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 THE 
 
 WILMINGTONS. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 " TWO OLD men's tales," " EMILIA WYNDHAM,'' 
 "MORDAUNT HALL," (fec. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, 
 
 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1850.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY HARRISON AND SON, 
 
 ST. martin's lane.
 
 
 THE WILMINGTONS, 
 
 PART I. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In song tlie spring comes welling 
 
 To-day, from out the grass ; 
 And not a hedge but 's telling 
 
 Earth's gladness as you pass. 
 Far up the bright blue sky 
 
 The quivering lark is singing ; 
 The Ihmsh, in copses nigh, 
 
 Shouts out the joy it's bringing. 
 
 W. C. Bennett. 
 
 It is a trite observation, and yet one of those 
 which it does not seem useless perpetually to reite- 
 rate — how great is the extent of mischief pro- 
 duced by the indulgence of what are commonly 
 called, and what people are more especially inclined 
 to call in themselves — venial faults. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Another observation, perhaps equally trite and 
 equally worthy attention^ is recorded by Miss 
 Edgeworth in the proverb prefixed to one of the 
 most incomparable of her incomparable tales, 
 *^ Barring out/^ that ^^ The mother of mischief is 
 no bigger than a midge's wing/' 
 
 For true it is, that the weakest and shallowest, 
 and most contemptible among human beings, as re- 
 gards understanding; and the emptiest, and vainest, 
 and most trifling as regards heart and character; 
 powerless as they may be to effect much good, 
 even under a right direction, may yet prove very 
 mischievous under a wrong one. The moral to be 
 drawn from these observations is still more trite 
 than the observations themselves. I leave it to be 
 inferred by those who honour me in being my 
 readers, and proceed to my tale. 
 
 A lovely wood, in the loveliest time of the 
 English year, when May has just merged into 
 June ; when the oak is still in its golden or crim-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. "3 
 
 son spring tints ; — the beech yet silken and of a 
 tender green ; — the ash putting forth its soft 
 leaves, and the anemone, the blue hyacinth, the 
 lychness, and the white stitchwort in flower ; and 
 the fairy groves of bilberries under our feet, are 
 hanging forth their Uttle rose-coloured bells — 
 and as happy a party are sitting together in this 
 wood, and enjoying this delightful time of the 
 year, as ever sallied forth, basket in hand, to 
 gather cowslips in the meadows, or explore the 
 brown horrors of the forest. 
 
 They are in their several periods of life, just of 
 the ages when such delights are most exqui- 
 sitely enjoyed. 
 
 Wordsworth, in a poem — the beauty of which 
 has rendered it almost too commonly known to 
 bear a quotation — has celebrated the lovely lights 
 that play round the imagination of the child and 
 the youth, diffusing such a heavenly glow upon the 
 aspect of external nature ; and he has compared 
 it to the ineffable brightness of the early dawn of 
 day. Were I gifted with the power of expression 
 which belongs to the poet, I could have been 
 tempted to add something to the beautiful lines — 
 
 b2
 
 ^ THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Shades of the prison-house begin to close 
 
 Upon the growing boy; 
 But he beholds the light, and whence it flows, 
 
 He sees it in his joy; 
 The youth who, daily from the East 
 Must travel, still is Nature's priest, 
 And by the vision splendid 
 Is on his way attended; 
 At length the man perceives it die away 
 And fade into the light of common day. 
 
 I would have wished to have added for the con- 
 solation of those who, under that fervid and arid 
 noon, look back with fond regret upon the hours 
 of dawn, — that as the light descends and the sun 
 of life sinks slowly to the west, colours and lights 
 more beautiful than all, gather round the closing 
 day. 
 
 That the man, as he travels onward, when the 
 heat and turmoil of the noontide hours are at an 
 end, beholds those heavenly visions of the morn- 
 ing with a something more sober, yet more beau- 
 tiful and tender still, — welcoming, as it were, his 
 return to the regions from whence "trailing 
 clouds of glory /^ he originally sprang; — once 
 more those finer imaginations which, jn the active 
 and stirring business of middle life, had faded
 
 THE WILMINGTON'S. 5 
 
 into " common day," return to bless the wearied 
 labourer, and to glorify the evening of his hours 
 before he sinks to his final rest. Whilst the soft 
 dew of evening falls, and the quiet moon rises 
 over the eastern woods, the nightingale sings the 
 requiem of the sun as he disappears amid the 
 gathering curtains of the night. 
 
 To return from this effusion to plain story. 
 
 The little party assembled in this lovely wood, 
 upon this most enchanting day, consisted of a set 
 of young people still children, and of one aged 
 gentlewoman. 
 
 There were some servants in attendance at a 
 little distance, which showed that the party be- 
 longed to a class in the higher walks of life ; but 
 the ease, gaiety, and simplicity of the little set 
 proved that they had inherited its refinement and 
 escaped all in it that was false or artificial, — had 
 profited by its privileges and escaped its snares so 
 far, at least. And this happy exemption was 
 chiefly owing to the character of the aged lady, to 
 whom her rank and dignity, combined with her 
 character and temper, gave such a powerful influ- 
 ence in this circle of human life.
 
 6; THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 I am one of those, — and I believe my taste has 
 been shared with some of the finest painters the 
 world has ever possessed, — who have the greatest 
 admiration for the beauty of old age. 
 
 The beauty of old age is perhaps more rare 
 than that of any other time of life, — 1 mean 
 fewer attain to the beauty which adorns the hoary 
 head ; — but when it is possessed, it is the most 
 noble or the most lovely, because it is the most 
 truly spiritual and most truly moral of all beauty. 
 Other beauty, though probably in a great degree 
 dependent upon, and certainly in a great degree 
 enhanced by moral qualities, is yet in many 
 respects an accident of forms and colours; but 
 the beauty of old age is the resume of the life of 
 the man. Upon that time-worn countenance the 
 passions and the faults, the virtues and the feel- 
 ings, the tenderness, love, benevolence — or envy, 
 covetousness, selfishness, and rage, have written 
 their characters in ineffaceable lines ; and beau- 
 tiful it is to see, as we often do see, faces actually 
 plain to ugliness in their youth, gradually expand- 
 ing into beauty under the influence of goodness, 
 sense, and worth; — the eye brightening into a
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 7 
 
 serene clearness; the lines of the countenance 
 assuming a heavenly refinement and repose ; the 
 whole face glorified with a sweetness and loveli- 
 ness not of this world. As it is the reverse — and 
 alas ! 1 fear more frequently — -when the lovely fea- 
 tures that delight us in youth, gradually lose their 
 charm, as the insipidity of vanity, the scowl of 
 disappointment, the dulness of vacuity, the sharp 
 thin lines of vicious excitement, or the grosser 
 ones of sensual enjoyment, gradually obscure what 
 once was. 
 
 My old lady belonged to the class I have first 
 spoken of. Whether she had been a beauty or 
 not in her youth I never inquired, but she was in- 
 deed beautiful now. She had been a large fair 
 woman once, and of stature rather above the com- 
 mon size; but now her form was bent with age 
 and w4th sorrow, — for it was plain she had known 
 sorrow. What child of man, who possesses a feel- 
 ing heart, attains her age without much sorrow? 
 But whilst those traces of frail humanity were 
 observable in both her form and face, the same 
 form and face revealed how well that sorrow had 
 been endured, — how well the fiery strife which
 
 8 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 leaves its scars upon life's toil-worn soldier, had 
 been fought. They told how calm had been the 
 courage, — how noble the resignation, — how serene 
 the victory ; — what tenderness had softened so 
 much strength, — what anguish endured with so 
 much fortitude ; — how energy had been combined 
 with composure, — how much goodness, sympathy, 
 and love had dwelt there. 
 
 Her hair was snow-w^hite; her eye clear blue, — 
 that frosty blue of old age, to me so peculiarly 
 beautiful; her skin, so delicately fair, adorned the 
 wrinkles of her face. This, it may be said, is 
 almost the only accidental beauty of colour which 
 remains to old age, — and she possessed it. Her 
 thin withered lips bore an air of indescribable 
 sweetness and kindness ; relieved from insipidity 
 by that expression of acuteness — fun — malice, — 
 which produces, so combined, in an aged face, 
 something of the same pleasurable effect as when 
 seen in a clever little child. 
 
 She was dressed in black silk, with a white 
 satin quilted l^onnet and a white cloak. She was 
 sitting upon the raised turf, under a magnifi- 
 cent tree, with her ivory-headed ebony staff lying
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 9 
 
 beside lier^ surrounded by the children. These 
 last were extremely busy, sorting, and dividing, 
 and arranging great heaps of flowers which they 
 had been gathering, and which lay prettily inter- 
 mingled among them. There were five of these 
 children : three little boys, and two little girls. 
 
 One of the boys and one of the girls were 
 grandchildren of the Duchess — for that was the 
 old lady^s worldly title; two others connected 
 in a certain very remote manner with her; the 
 third a schoolboy friend, — a pale, thin, sallow, 
 large-featured, rather heavy-looking young man, 
 dressed in rather an ungainly manner, in a green 
 coat and pink-striped summer waistcoat, and sat 
 reading under a tree, at some distance from the 
 rest. 
 
 We must of course give precedence to rank, 
 even in children, and so I have the pleasure to 
 introduce you first to Lord George Tempest, a 
 boy about ten or eleven years old, and as hand- 
 some a young creature as you have often seen. 
 He was a regular beauty of the Norman race, as 
 it is the afi'ectation of the times to say. A regular 
 beauty among our beautiful aristocracy. He had a
 
 10 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 right to be called. Features at once manly and 
 delicate, — eyes of the darkest blue, almost black 
 in their cloudy splendour, — hair curling like the 
 bells of the hyacinth, and of the most sunny 
 golden brown; with a slender figure, formed for 
 elegance and action at once, and promising to 
 be just so much above the common height as to 
 be distinguished, without being too tall; — lips 
 like cherries, and the face full of fun, spirit, and 
 good humour — such was this dear young Lord 
 George. 
 
 He was an imaginative being, though a mis- 
 chievous petulant schoolboy, and, consequently, 
 he already fancied himself in love; and it was with 
 his little cousin Flavia, who sat by his side almost 
 buried in flowers. She was an active little crea- 
 ture, and had gathered a huge nosegay by her own 
 exertions, which now lay upon one side of her ; 
 whilst another, twice as big, was upon the other, 
 gathered by her indefatigable adorer — her knight, 
 her squire, her slave — Lord George. 
 
 They were very busy together, for she was an 
 orderly little thing, though full of fancy, as she 
 was full of goodness and feeling; and she was
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 11 
 
 sorting and arranging the confused heap of treasures 
 that lay around her, and so absorbed, that she 
 seemed as if she could think of nothing but her 
 flowers. 
 
 A little way from her, but upon the same side 
 of the circle, we come to Harry. He is a plain, 
 rather heavy-looking boy — certainly not cast in 
 an aristocratic mould; his complexion is sun- 
 burned, his features coarsely cut ; his motions too 
 are usually more awkward, and his speech more 
 slow and confused, than they were need to be, for 
 he is excessively, painfully shy. He is, however, 
 at present, completely engaged in what he is 
 about ; and, with gravity worthy of a more impor- 
 tant occasion, is arranging, re-arranging, tying up 
 and untying, a nosegay of the flowers he has 
 collected, — endeavouring to please his own eye by 
 his arrangement; but in vain. Poor Harry Wil- 
 mington, even so early, experiences what it is to be 
 one of those hapless beings, who possess a taste 
 beyond their powers of execution, and therefore is 
 destined to be dissatisfied with himself and with 
 all his performances. Thence his self-distrust — 
 his hesitation — his awkwardness — his painful sense
 
 12 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 of timidity and shyness, when in the company of 
 those he admires — admires with all the fervour of 
 a most sensitive disposition, and most vivid per- 
 ception of the excellent and the beautiful in all 
 things. 
 
 Opposite to Harry, and at a very short distance 
 from the Duchess, whom she perfectly adores, sits 
 Caroline. A fine brown gipsy girl, larger and 
 stronger-looking than the rest, with nut-brown 
 clear eyes, full of strength and intelligence, — dark- 
 brown hair cut short in a crop, — and a cheek finely 
 proportioned, but colourless as that of a Spaniard. 
 She is not making nosegays; she has got some 
 grasses and a book, and is studying to make them 
 out; assisted by a thin, delicate-looking fair-haired 
 boy, with complexion transparent as the finest 
 porcelain ; soft pink colour in his cheeks ; sweet, 
 intelligent blue eyes, which are both tender and 
 melancholy; and a mouth that one would hardly 
 think could belong to a boy, — so gentle, so almost 
 plaintive is its expression. He is called Albert 
 Selwyn by the others, being the schoolboy ac- 
 quaintance of Harry, who, as sometimes happens, 
 is always Harry in and out of school. Now, we
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 13 
 
 must know who these children are, and their 
 connexion with each other. 
 
 Lord George is the Duchess's grandson, de- 
 scended from her eldest daughter, now a widow, 
 her husband, the Earl of Sandown, having been 
 sometime dead, leaving this boy with a very- 
 slender younger son's portion. His elder brother, 
 who has inherited the estates, being much older, 
 is now abroad, travelling with his tutor ; and as he 
 probably will appear no more in this history, 
 we may as well dispose of him at once. 
 
 He married abroad, and spent most of his time 
 afterwards there, to the injury of the rightful 
 pretensions of his fair countrywomen " on the 
 market," in the first place, — and of his tenants, 
 dependants, and the country under whose laws 
 and protection he inherited and held his property 
 in the second. The mother of Lord George had 
 a plentiful jointure, and led a life of the great 
 world ; spending every farthing she possessed, and 
 indeed rather more, upon herself and her son. 
 In consequence, he had now, and continued to 
 have for some years, much more money to spend 
 than was at all good for him; but his tender
 
 14 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 mother, who perfectly adored him, was ever 
 lamenting his miserably slender inheritance, and 
 resolved that, at least while she lived, he should 
 not know what privation was. She therefore 
 spared no expense to secure for him luxuries and 
 enjoyments that heirs of even very large fortunes 
 are often denied. So that handsome, good-hearted, 
 lively Lord George is in danger of being spoiled, 
 I am afraid; and so thinks his good grandmother, 
 and remonstrates, and even lectures, and strives 
 with all her might to undo the evil effects of 
 such a system, — with what success we shall pre- 
 sently see. 
 
 Flavia is the daughter of the Duchesses third 
 daughter, and is dear and precious above all things 
 to the good grandmother's heart; for she has 
 lived very much with her. The mother had 
 married a Welsh squire, that is to say, a Welsh- 
 man with a good deal of landed property in Wales ; 
 but he was not like most Welsh squires— a man 
 of high family, — his father, or perhaps himself, I 
 forget which, had considerably added to a small 
 estate by successful trade; so that when the Lady 
 Margaret married him it was regarded as rather
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 15 
 
 a derogation to her high dignity, — and, though 
 she had fallen in love with the young man, or 
 his plentiful fortune — so she thought herself. 
 However, he died soon, and left her with this one 
 little girl, heiress to all his wealth. But the 
 mother hated trouble and loved dissipation, and 
 the care and attention necessary to educate a little 
 solitary child under such circumstances was quite 
 beyond her; so the task had chiefly fallen upon 
 the good Duchess, who was one of those who stood 
 by, ready to step in and atone for the deficiencies 
 of others. She had spared no care or exertion to 
 rear this little plant properly; and such care and 
 exertion always results in making a child doubly 
 dear; but Flavia is indeed a very nice little thing, 
 gay, innocent, affectionate, simple-hearted, — a 
 laughing, loving child, — yet full of character, 
 —with something determined, which had been 
 doggedness in her mother, softened by her own 
 natural pliancy and softness. Lord George 
 loved her dearly — both as cousin and as a young 
 imaginative boy. He thought her quite an angel, 
 and his mother encouraged the feeling by every 
 means in her power; whilst the good grandmother.
 
 16 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 though too wary and too well-principled to en- 
 courage this nascent attachment, or influence the 
 aiFections of either in any way, could not help 
 feeling a certain complacency when she saw them 
 thus sitting busily occupied together, apparently 
 forgetting the existence of every one in the world 
 but themselves. 
 
 Harry was the son of Mr. Wilmington, the rich 
 city merchant — the prosperous, the millionnaire 
 Mr, Wilmington ; and also, it may be added, the 
 very handsome and brilliant Mr. Wilmington; the 
 idol and the star among a very numerous and 
 wealthy,- if not a very tip-top circle. He had mar- 
 ried a daughter of a distant relation of the Welsh 
 squire; and thus was, in a very remote degree, con- 
 nected with the Duchess, — a connection, however 
 slight, in which he took the greatest pride. Such 
 a gossamer thread of union would, however, in all 
 probability, have long ago vanished from all recol- 
 lection upon the one side, had not the memory of 
 
 it been kept up by the accident of Flavia L 
 
 and Caroline Wilmington being educated at the 
 same school. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington had been, almost from the
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. Ij 
 
 time of her marriage^ in a declining state of health, 
 — a circumstance which left her gay husband to 
 pursue his objects, either of business or plea- 
 sure, very much alone. A thing to be regretted, 
 — for his wife, who was sensible and serious, a 
 woman of simple tastes and of a quiet and re- 
 served disposition, might have acted as a very 
 useful check upon his rash, sanguine temperament, 
 — and as a mute censor upon that unbounded love 
 of expense and display, in which his plentiful 
 fortune allowed him to indulge almost without 
 limit. 
 
 His children, luckily for them, had, however, 
 been left almost entirely to the guidance of their 
 mother. Of Caroline, the gay father was proud 
 and fond. She was a clever, spirited, handsome 
 little thing, always ready with a lively answer to 
 many a sportive attack, and with spirits equal to 
 any of the schemes of pleasure he might have in 
 view for her. As a little child, she had been 
 seldom sick, and never cross. 
 
 Harry was none of these things. As a child, 
 he had been ugly, tender-spirited, of feeble health, 
 and consequently rather fretful temper. As he
 
 18 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 grew older, the ill health and the fretfulness had 
 disappeared; but the effects of the constant checks 
 he had received from his too thoughtless father 
 remained, and, acting upon a most sensitive dispo- 
 sition, and a most simple, humble, and affectionate 
 heart, had produced all that shyness, timidity, and 
 self-distrust which obscured so many latent good 
 qualities. 
 
 Selwyn was the orphan son of a merchant, 
 belonging to that mercantile aristocracy of 
 honourable, long- descended, commercial houses 
 which fill so high a place in our mixed society. 
 He was heir to a very large fortune, and there was 
 another in expectation. His mother had been 
 sister to that Mr. Craiglethorpe, who, it was re- 
 ported, was now making his millions in India, 
 though he had left England somewhat late in 
 life. 
 
 It was Mr. Craiglethorpe's only brother, 
 Thomas, who sat under the tree reading. 
 
 Selwyn was being educated at the same school 
 with Harry and Lord George, with the former 
 of whom he had contracted a close intimacy, which 
 was fast ripening into tender friendship. These
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 19 
 
 two sensitive and feeling, and^ we may add, suffer- 
 ing hearts, grew together ; for though Selwyn had 
 not that bashfulness, shyness, and awkwardness 
 which distressed Harry, — being a remarkably 
 gentlemanlike boy, though silent and quiet, — yet 
 the extreme delicacy of his health ill-fitted him 
 for the strifes and difficulties of a large school; 
 and his sufferings would have been great, if it had 
 not been for the support and assistance of Harry, 
 who, with all his social timidity, was physically 
 and morally brave as a lion, and, when roused, 
 courageous as a hero. He had fought many a 
 hard battle in defence of his friend ; and had done 
 more, for he had defied the general ridicule by the 
 tender, almost womanly attentions which he paid 
 to the wants and comforts of the delicate and 
 suffering boy. 
 
 This friendship had become quite a proverb 
 in the family ; and wishing to please Harry Wil- 
 mington, the good Duchess had invited Selwyn to 
 join this little party, which she had assembled 
 round her. 
 
 Flavia and Caroline were returned for the 
 holidays from Mrs. SteelcoUar's establishment ; — ■ 
 
 c 2
 
 20 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 a highly fashionable seminary, to which Caroline 
 had been sent much against the wishes of her 
 mother, and Flavia equally against the opinion of 
 her grandmother. But the resolution of Mr. Wil- 
 mington, most anxious for his daughter's progress 
 in all those external accomplishments which in his 
 opinion her mother prized too lightly, and of the 
 worldly-minded Lady Margaret, had prevailed in 
 both cases ; and these young people had been 
 brought more closely together, considering the 
 slenderness of their connection, and the different 
 circles of society in which they seemed destined to 
 move, than would have otherwise been the case. 
 
 The two girls, though Caroline was some five 
 years the senior in age, had become greatly 
 attached to each other ; and Flavia had made it 
 her first petition upon her return home, that 
 Caroline might be invited with her brother Harry, 
 of whom she was so very fond, to spend the 
 first weeks of the summer holidays at Castle 
 Delaval. 
 
 Harry had seen Flavia several times before, 
 when she had been allowed to come home for a 
 day with Miss Wilmington; for, as her mother had
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 21 
 
 the honour to be, though distantly, allied to her 
 father's family, in spite of Mr. Wilmington's city 
 connections. Lady Margaret could not, in de- 
 cency, refuse Flavia's earnest entreaties to be 
 allowed to visit her friend. 
 
 Harry was no brilliant precocious boy, like 
 Lord George, and he never ventured upon those 
 flattering speeches to the pretty little girl of which 
 the other was so lavish : he only displayed the 
 more fervent admiration with which his boyish 
 heart was filled, — by eyes fixed upon her in silent 
 reverential tenderness, as upon some being belong- 
 ing to a sphere quite beyond his own ; and by 
 his very timid attempts at rendering her any 
 little service, for which the opportunity might 
 occur. Whilst unluckily, poor fellow, the very 
 sensibility of his heart, acted, as it too often does, 
 on one so sensitive, in an adverse manner ; produ- 
 cing a more than usual awkwardness in his motions 
 and hesitation in his voice whenever he addressed 
 her. Caroline was vexed to see her darling 
 brother appear to so little advantage, but was too 
 young to understand the nature of such feelings ; 
 and her animated remonstrances and evident
 
 22 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 mortification upon such occasions^ did not tend 
 to mend the matter. The good old Duchess, who 
 had penetration enough to discover the sterling 
 qualities possessed by the boy under this some- 
 what homely outside, succeeded, however, better in 
 her endeavours to encourage him. She could in 
 secret have wished, perhaps, that her darling and 
 brilliant grandson couid have united with his other 
 engaging qualities, something of the modesty, the 
 gentleness, and the unaffected simplicity of Harry^s 
 manner; but this would have been, indeed, to 
 combine contradictions, and she knew the thing 
 was next to impossible. Yet she could not help 
 every nov/ and then falling into the mistake of 
 holding up to Lord George something in the light 
 of an example — the very boy he looked down 
 upon, as infinitely his inferior in every respect. 
 This did Harry no good service in the eyes of the 
 other: he looked upon any proofs of this pre- 
 ference above himself as a most crying injustice ; 
 and was not so much inclined to be jealous of 
 Harry — a feeling he would have thought infinitely 
 beneath him — as to regard him with a certain dis- 
 like, as the cause of a partiality which he thought
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 23 
 
 SO injurious to his own claims. With this feeling 
 was mingled a little schoolboy jealousy of his 
 admiration of Flavia^ which, though Harry, in his 
 pride and delicacy, endeavoured to conceal, he was 
 too artless not to betray unconsciously upon almost 
 every occasion. 
 
 Lord George had, however, little cause to envy 
 Harry the place he held in the little lady^s favour ; 
 her preference for himself was as undisguised as 
 were all the other innocent emotions of her little 
 honest heart. 
 
 " Well, Harry,^' said the Duchess, after a long 
 silence, during which she had been observing him, 
 " you have taken infinite pains with that nosegay 
 of yours; you have tied and untied it twenty 
 times, I think. I have been w^atching your at- 
 tempts, and admiring your patience ; and now it 
 is at last done, it looks extremely pretty ; but you 
 keep holding it in your hand. Do you mean it only 
 for yourself, after all }" 
 
 "Oh, no,^^ .stammered Harry; "only — I don^t 
 know — I don't feel sure.^^ 
 
 "What, don't you know? what don^t you feel 
 sure of }''
 
 24 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 ^^ Whether she will think it, after all, worth 
 having.'^ 
 
 " She ? who ?" 
 
 '' Miss Flavia." 
 
 '^Yes/' said the good-natured old lad)?-; '^1 
 am sure she will, if you mean it for her; and 
 think it as pretty as I do. Here, Flavia, my 
 dear." 
 
 But Flavia heard not. She and Lord George 
 were very much too busy to listen to anything but 
 their own rapid and animated prattle. 
 
 ^^Come hither, Flavia.'^ But Flavia did not 
 even turn her head. 
 
 Harry looked at them, and then at his nosegay, 
 and then at the Duchess. 
 
 '^ Thank you, ma^am ; but perhaps she w ouldn^t 
 like it.'^ 
 
 " Why not ? Any one must like such a beau- 
 tiful assemblage of flowers ; and you have taken 
 such pains Avith it, too. Flavia, my dear,^^ — 
 raising her voice a little — ^^ do you not hear me ? 
 Look what a beautiful nosegay of flowers Harry 
 Wilmington has made for you !" 
 
 " For me, is it ? oh, what a beautv! Come and
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 25 
 
 sit herC;, Harry/^ said the little girl^ making room 
 for him. " Look, George, what a beauty !" 
 
 " Do you call that a beauty ? It's tied together 
 as if it were going to be sold by the bunch in 
 Covent-Garden market. Do you call that a nose- 
 gay ? — here, hand it over to me, Flavia, and let 
 me look at it." 
 
 She gave it him : he took it, and surveyed it 
 scornfully. 
 
 ^^ Well, to be sure, here is a taste !" 
 
 Harry's countenance fell ; his spirits were un- 
 fortunately so tender, as to be daunted on some 
 things by the merest trifles. The Duchess watched 
 him with interest, and said laughingly, in order to 
 encourage him, 
 
 '^ I am afraid, dear George, you are a sad con- 
 ceited fellow, and fancy nobody can do anything 
 well but yourself; even to the tying-up of a nose- 
 gay he would fain be considered incomparable," 
 said she, turning to Harry. " I hope this ambi- 
 tion may extend to objects of more importance. 
 In the meantime, my dear, you must not trouble 
 yourself with the fancies of little girls," she added, 
 seeing Flavia drop the nosegay upon the grass by
 
 26 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 her side, with an air of indifference. " At that 
 little girl's age, we have no idea of having a taste 
 or opinion different from those we love/' 
 
 The last sentence was not exactly adapted to 
 console the proud and feeling boy. He rose from 
 the ground, and retreating, walked quietly away 
 through the bushes by himself. 
 
 And then he watched the trees playing in the 
 soft summer wind, and the white blossoms of the 
 mountain-ash bowing and rising again, and filling 
 the air with sweetness, whilst the birds were 
 whistling and chirping and singing, and nature all 
 so harmoniously beautiful. He walked on, musing, 
 and heard the laughter and the talk going on 
 behind him, and felt how lonely he was, and how 
 different from other people ; and then a deep sense 
 of discouragement laid hold of him. He was 
 nothing, and should be nothing. No one on earth 
 seemed to care for him, but his mother and Caro- 
 line ; and his mother was far away, and Caroline 
 seemed absorbed by Selwyn. What was he now 
 to any of them ? but, indeed, what was there in 
 him that he should ? 
 
 Presently he heard the bustle as the company
 
 THE WILMINGTONS, 2? 
 
 departed from the place they had been occupying; 
 and gradually the hum of voices^ broken by the 
 merry and exhilarating laugh, died away. 
 
 Then Harry returned to the spot which they 
 had quitted, and there he found his nosegay, left 
 neglected upon the ground. He was far from 
 resenting this neglect as a piece of injustice, as 
 Lord George would have done infallibly in his 
 place ; but he felt it acutely, and in a manner 
 beyond his years; he, however, preserved his 
 youthful dignity and composure, walked quietly to 
 the place, took it up, and, going to the side of a 
 brook which ran sparkling and gurgling through 
 the hazel-bushes hard by, he deliberately dropped 
 it in, and watched it, vexed and tossed by the 
 whirling stream, till it disappeared. Then he 
 returned to the house in apparent tranquillity, 
 but more sore of heart, more depressed in spirits, 
 by such a trifle, than one could have thought 
 possible.
 
 28 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Hold not my passion's oifering poor; 
 
 Trust in a true heart's worth- 
 Ay, more than all the tinsel shows 
 
 That dazzle the dull earth. 
 
 W. C. Bennett. 
 
 No doubt this visits in spite of the kind en- 
 couragement of the Duchess, was upon the whole 
 unfavourable to the development of this sensitive 
 character. 
 
 In company with Lord George, so brilliant, 
 handsome, high-spirited, and arrogant, — or rather, 
 perhaps, I should use the French word, avanta- 
 geux, — for Lord George, though too good-natured 
 and too easy in his temper strictly to merit the 
 term arrogant, had certainly that high sense of his
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 29 
 
 own advantages which often exercises a very de- 
 pressing effect upon the spirits of others — in his 
 presence, the only other boy being Selwyn, 
 whose gentleness^ elegance, ease and refinement 
 of manner forbad him appearing in unfavourable 
 contrast with any one, — Henry felt more than 
 ever the depressing sense of his own defects and 
 disadvantages. 
 
 The ambition of pleasing seemed in danger of 
 being lost with the hope of succeeding. He was 
 too gentle-tempered to become morose, too highly 
 minded to be quarrelsome, — but, dissatisfied with 
 himself, and ill at ease, he moped about, leaving 
 the others to their enjoyments. Lord George 
 and Flavia seemed ready enough to make them- 
 selves happy, without paying the least regard to 
 him in any way, — but not so his sister and 
 Selwyn. 
 
 The. children were the rest of that day busy 
 building a fairy's bower; and having constructed 
 a pretty sylvan cave, with twisted living branches 
 and boughs of trees, they were busy ornamenting 
 it with the flowers they had been collecting. 
 Lord George had already installed Flavia as
 
 30 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Queen of the Fairies^ and was decking a throne 
 for her with the nosegays they had tied up. The 
 little girl was busy and pleased; Caroline and 
 Selwyn were ornamenting the walls of the bower; 
 they were all laughing and talking, and all very 
 happy. Suddenly Caroline stopped, turned round, 
 looked at Selwyn, and said, — 
 
 " Where's Harry V 
 
 ^' Where is he ?'' responded Selwyn. ^^ He 
 came out with us. What a pity, Caroline, that he 
 is so dull and melancholy !" 
 
 ^^ He is always quiet at home, and sometimes 
 melancholy; yet in general Harry is a happy boy, 
 though so grave ; but he grows quite gloomy here. 
 I wonder what is become of him T' 
 
 " Shall we go and look for him ?" said Selwyn. 
 
 " No, you stay here, and let me go alone.'' 
 
 She took up her hat, which lay by her upon the 
 ground, tied it over her dark hair, and then look- 
 ing, as Selwyn thought, like the most beautiful 
 gypsy he had ever seen painted, left the bower 
 in search of her brother. 
 
 It was a wild copsy-tangled wood, and now 
 the [glorious month of June ; the blue hyacinths
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 31 
 
 enamelled the ground beneath like a pavement 
 of lapis-lazuli, varied by patches of the lovely 
 white anemone. The clear, bright sun pene- 
 trated the yellow and red transparent leaves of the 
 oaks, the beeches waved their silken tendrils in 
 the soft wind, and the dark, shining hollies 
 sparkled in the light, whilst the birds sang in the 
 branches of the hornbeam and the hazel. It was 
 the loveliest of summer days. The young heart 
 of the girl swelled with a lofty pleasure as she 
 gazed around, and imbibed, as it were, the genius 
 of the woods, and lifted her dark, serious, earnest 
 eye to the heavens, and thought of that Being 
 whom her mother had from earliest infancy 
 directed her to seek in all things ; and the gran- 
 deur, and the beauty, and the love — His grandeur. 
 His beauty. His love— seemed flowing in a rich 
 stream of goodness above, around, beneath her. 
 And her heart, so good, so earnest, so deeply 
 serious, swelled responsive to it; and as she 
 threaded those green sylvan labyrinths it gushed 
 to words in an extemporary hymn of praise. 
 These were Caroline's most fervid, most delight- 
 ful moments. She was one of those who from
 
 32 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 their very infancy have imbibed that higher hfe 
 which hfts the creature^ as it were^, above the 
 cares and the vanities, without unfitting it for the 
 affections and the duties, of this life. There had 
 been from a child, — if the word will not appear 
 misapplied, but I can find no other, — something 
 of the sublime about her. 
 
 Caroline had been the most generous, the most 
 self-devoted, the most self-denying among chil- 
 dren ; the most seriously indefatigable at her 
 studies, because she looked upon them as duties ; 
 the most faithful to truth ; the most strictly honest, 
 temperate, and serene of little girls ; and the most 
 scrupulous in the performance of her childish 
 ofiices of devotion. Added to all this, she was 
 most warmly affectionate in her feelings, both 
 to her father, her mother, and, above all, to her 
 brother. She loved her father for his good nature 
 and indulgence, with all that overflowing gratitude, 
 even for small kindnesses, of which characters like 
 hers are so fully capable. She loved her mother 
 with a reverence approaching to awe, looking up 
 to her as to some superior being, whose wisdom 
 and virtue inspired her with an esteem beyond
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 33 
 
 words 5 her brother, with a mixture of tenderness, 
 admiration, and compassion. With sympathies so 
 strong for all that was righteous and good ; with a 
 sound sense such as that which she possessed, she 
 had early discerned and almost worshipped the 
 dawning virtues discoverable even from his earliest 
 childhood in the little boy, who was four or five 
 years younger than herself. Gifted with that dis- 
 cernment into character which some children so 
 strangely display, she understood him perfectly. 
 She estimated, if no one else could, how hard it 
 must be for him to adhere, unflinchingly as he did, 
 to his truthfulness, his principles, his high sense of 
 what was right, in spite of the bashful shyness 
 which made every moral effort so painful and so 
 difficult. She understood the deep sensibility of 
 his feelings, which neither father nor mother saw ; 
 she discerned the burning sense of shame with 
 which- he received his mother^s reproofs — reproofs 
 that Caroline could often perceive were founded 
 upon a misconception of his motives and inten- 
 tions ; or the painful sense of embarrassment with 
 which he endured his gay father's sarcasms upon 
 his manners and appearance. She could see how 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 cruelly he was wounded by injustice or unkind- 
 ness, and could appreciate the temper and the 
 fortitude with which he endured what was to him 
 a source of such exquisite pain. She loved him 
 dearly as her only brother; she loved him with 
 enthusiasm^ as, in her opinion, the most excellent 
 of human creatures ; she loved him with the fond- 
 est tenderness, as to her an object of the gentlest 
 sympathy and compassion. She loved him as one 
 from whom she felt she should receive, were it 
 needed, all that support which woman seeks in 
 man; and she loved him as the being, in some 
 respects almost childishly, dependant upon herself 
 for tenderness and happiness. 
 
 And it was under the influence of this feeling, 
 blended — of the mother, the elder sister, and 
 the guardian angel, the monitor and the com- 
 forter- — that she now, soothed by the whispering 
 spirit of the woods, wandered along looking for 
 him. 
 
 She came to a green alley cut where a double 
 line of towering elm trees made a lofty verdant 
 arch, which arch the sky only suffered the rays of 
 the sun to flicker through upon the grass. He
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 35 
 
 was slowly walking there with his back turned 
 towards her. 
 
 She went up to him, and laid her hand upon his 
 shoulder before he perceived her, — for he was 
 deep in thought, his head dropped upon his breast, 
 and looking very downcast. But he turned round, 
 and a brightness spread over his face as he looked 
 at her. He had been feeling, in his melancholy, as 
 if quite alone — as if nobody cared for him — that 
 dark phantom which haunts the young in their 
 desponding hours — and here was that dear, dear 
 sister close at hand, looking at him with the 
 affectionate, anxious look which comforted him 
 when he was sad or sorry. 
 
 '^ My dear Harry, why will you run away from 
 all the rest?^^ she began in a tone of gentle 
 remonstrance ; " Do you know, it is not very wise 
 to indulge these moping humours, and I am sure 
 it can^t be very pleasant. Come,^^ putting her 
 hand under his chin, and endeavouring to turn his 
 face, which he had averted, towards her, " confess 
 you are sulky about something or another, and yet 
 you would give the world to have done with it, 
 and be among us again. Only you feel as if there 
 
 D 2
 
 36 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 was something grand in such a mood, and it is so 
 awkward to descend from one^s altitude. Do tell 
 me, dear Harry, what's the matter with you }'' 
 
 " It's only the old thing, that I am a great fool 
 to care." 
 
 ^^ Yes, that I'll be bound you are. But what do 
 you care about ? What has vexed you ?" 
 
 " Oh, Caroline, don't ask me ! I'm ashamed of 
 myself. I think there never was such a stupid 
 ass as I am." 
 
 "Oh, that^s quite an old story, Harry — of 
 course )■ ou are ; — but that's not the reason you look 
 so disconsolate; because, if it is, I wish you'd take 
 my word for it, and not your own, and then you 
 would never call yourself ass again." 
 
 He smiled. 
 
 ^' Ah ! that's right — it's going away. Come, 
 come along; we've got all our flowers out; we 
 put them in water yesterday, and you cannot 
 think how pretty the bower is. Lord George is 
 making such a beautiful throne for Flavia, and the 
 child is in extasies. Where's your nosegay that 
 you made yesterday ?" 
 
 " She didn't care for it ; — she would'nt even
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 3? 
 
 look at it. Lord George persuaded her that it 
 was not worth having — and no more it was — so I 
 threw it away/^ 
 
 ^•'lam sorry you did that; you would have 
 been glad to have had it when there was a use for 
 it ; but it doesn't much signify/' 
 
 '' Oh, no/' and he turned away. 
 
 "But it does signify to him, I see," said Caro- 
 line to herself. " That overbearing Lord George ! 
 Why was not Harry's nosegay as good as his own, 
 I wonder — because, it was Ms — I see that. But 
 Harry shall have some flowers to give Flavia, that 
 he can't get. Come, Harry," speaking aloud 
 again, ^^coaie along, and never mind your slighted 
 nosegay. You shall have one the day after to- 
 morrow, that Lord George himself shall envy; and 
 have the pleasure of presenting it to the fairy 
 queen, who is to be crowned upon that day. Only, 
 dear, dear brother,'' laying her hand kindlyupon his 
 shoulder, and stooping down too, for she v/as a good 
 deal taller than he was — " dear brother, I wish I 
 could persuade you to be true to yourself; and to 
 resist these low melancholy feelings which indeed, 
 indeed, only expose you to the slights and inso-
 
 38 THE WILMTNGTONS. 
 
 lence of others, and which I am much afraid — 
 much afraid may end by permanently weakening 
 your character, Harry/' 
 
 " I feel so miserably awkward ; so wretchedly 
 shy." 
 
 "Aye, that is it, and this will grow upon you, 
 my dear boy ; but don't let it grow upon you — 
 resist it — vanquish it. Come, now to begin, do 
 come and work at the arbour, and never mind 
 that foolish, conceited Lord George : he thinks 
 himself worth ten of you, and you are foolish 
 enough to let him make you almost think so your- 
 self, when he is not fit — no not to hold the candle to 
 you. I can't bear to see it, Harry — T cannot indeed 
 — your spirit has been cowed as a child, I know. 
 They did not quite understand you. It was bad; 
 but it little matters, so you do but understand 
 yourself now, and fight with this low-spirited feel- 
 ing of yours. Indeed you can do it if you will but 
 try. If you will but learn these precious words, 
 ^ Don't care.'" 
 
 " ^ Don't care' shipwrecked Harry upon the coast 
 of Africa," said her brother, looking up at her and 
 smiling.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 39 
 
 " I don^t know how that might be^^^ answering 
 the smile with a look of the tenderest affection ; 
 '^ but do care^ shipwrecks many a precious vessel 
 upon the shoals of society. Young as 1 am, I 
 have found out that/^ she said, gaily. "Come 
 along." 
 
 By that post Caroline wrote to her father : — 
 
 " Dear Papa, 
 
 " We are all very happy here, for the 
 Duchess is excessively good-natured ; and this is 
 the loveliest place you can conceive. Such im- 
 mense woods ! Woods are so different from 
 shrubberies ; and they are so unimaginably beau- 
 tiful; and quite full of wild flowers and all manner 
 of lovely trees; and such abundance of birds! for 
 the Duchess does not allow the birds to be shot ; 
 so her woods are a land of refuge for all ^ the 
 feathered choir ;' and it's lovely early in the morn- 
 ing to see and hear them so happy and so busy. 
 We have found loads of nests, and I have got a 
 collection of eggs, — some very curious, — and a 
 great many new flowers for mamma's herbal. The 
 Duchess is a delightful old lady; not the least 
 grand or proud, as I thought all Duchesses were,
 
 40 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 but such a reverend^ gentle person^ and so gravely 
 dressed ! I was quite surprised ; I expected her to 
 be so fine; — but she is not one-half so fine as 
 Mrs. Emerson^s mother^ or Mrs. Emerson her- 
 self, and more in mammals taste about these things, 
 which I think you will be glad to know. And 
 there is such a set of ancient, grey-haired servants; 
 — I wish we had grey-haired servants ; you can't 
 think how respectable and nice it looks, — as if 
 they were old friends; and the Duchess's own 
 maid is quite an old woman, and stoops actually, 
 and is so plainly dressed ! Flavia is prettier than 
 ever ; but I do not see so much of her as at 
 school, because she is quite taken up with her 
 cousin Lord George, who is here, of course, and 
 I don't like him much. He's good-natured 
 enough, but he's arrogant, and seems to think 
 himself too good for his company. I don't care 
 the least bit in the world for this, neither does 
 Selwyn. We both know very well we are not 
 born to be lords and ladies ; and if they don't care 
 for us we're both very like the miller,^(but the 
 good Duchess is not a bit arrogant) ; but it vexes 
 me sometimes for Henry ; because Henry, though
 
 THE WILMINGTOXS. 41 
 
 he has a noble spirit within, yet you know he is 
 so shy and distrustful of himself; and Lord 
 George takes advantage of his humility and his 
 modesty, and dashes him. He seems a good- 
 natured boy in the main, in spite of his faults, but 
 he has taken a sort of spite, I think, to Henry. 
 It's about Flavia, I think; — only that would be 
 too foolish, for Flavia evidently does not care the 
 least in the world for Henry, and is never happy 
 without Lord George. However, now I come to 
 the end of my letter, and what I want you, 
 dearest papa, to do. There's been something 
 about a nosegay, — and I think Lord George was 
 ill-natured and insolent, and despised Henry, be- 
 cause his nosegay was not so handsome as his; 
 and I won't teaze you with particulars, but what 
 I want is, a very beautiful nosegay to be sent to 
 Henry out of our hot-houses — they have no hot- 
 houses, except for grapes, here ; — something that 
 Lord George could not sneer at, and that Henry 
 might have the pleasure of giving to Flavia, and 
 that Flavia would like to have. I dare say my 
 feehngs are very foolish, and perhaps almost 
 wrong about all this ; ])ut I cannot help wishing
 
 42 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 it very much ; and if you would do me the great 
 favour to send Henry a splendid nosegay of hot- 
 house flowers,' — or some very fine heaths would do, 
 but I'm not sure if they are not over, — you would, 
 dear papa, oblige very much indeed, 
 
 '' Your affectionate daughter, 
 
 " Caroline, 
 
 " There's going to be a sort of Fairy Queen 
 Feast the day after to-morrow. Please send the 
 flowers to be here that day morning early. Dear 
 love to mamma." 
 
 The answer : — 
 ^^ My dear little charmer of a Caroline, 
 
 " Thank you for your long letter. I am 
 glad you are happy, and that the Duchess is so 
 kind to you. By your account, that Lord George 
 seems an insolent jackanapes, as most of the Nobs 
 who have fallen under my observation are. Fm 
 sorry Harry is such a lout. By your letter, I 
 guess he is rather more so at Castle Delaval than 
 even at home, where he's more awkward a good 
 deal than enough. However, he's my son, and 
 not to be borne down by anybody, -and you were 
 quite right, and acted like the dear, sensible,
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 43 
 
 spirited girl you are, to write to me ; and to-mor- 
 row Harry will receive such a bouquet as I think 
 few Lords or Dukes either, can present to the 
 fairest Fairy Queen in the land. I went through 
 our own houses; but not content with that, I have 
 been to three or four in the King's Road, and 
 I have taken the trouble myself to select the 
 very rarest and choicest things that were to be 
 had; and my boy shall have a nosegay that royalty 
 itself might be proud to receive ; — and then your 
 Lord George may scoff as he will, and be ready 
 to bite his fingers off for mere envy. But tell 
 Harry, with my love, that I sent him to school to 
 learn to make his own way; and not to look 
 mealy-faced, and as if he was frightened out of 
 his seven senses when he comes across strangers, 
 ^^ My darling Carry's loving father to command, 
 you little witch, 
 
 "Edward Wilmington/^ 
 
 Proud was the young girl — far too young, and 
 far too confiding to distinguish all that might have 
 been distinguished in this letter, and grateful 
 beyond measure to the indulgent father who had
 
 44 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 SO generously and munificently complied with this 
 request. 
 
 Upon the appointed morning a box arrived, 
 directed to Henry Wilmington, Esq. ; and Caro- 
 line had the extreme delight of seeing her 
 brother's surprise and pleasure when he opened 
 it and beheld an enormous bouquet, composed of 
 the most expensive and lovely flowers that it was 
 possible to gather together. The rarest orchida- 
 ceous plants, in all their fantastic variety of forms 
 and most dazzling colours, the rarest and finest gera- 
 niums, camellias, roses, ixias, gladiolus — everything 
 that was most rich and beautiful. The whole was 
 tied together by a silver ribbon, and surrounded 
 by a paper border, cut and painted, and gilt and 
 ornamented like a French fan. Caroline thought 
 the flowers needed little this addition, which, to 
 her taste, rather diminished than enhanced the 
 extreme beauty of the nosegay ; and so might 
 Harry have thought, had he not been far too 
 much pleased to be critical. Selwyn was sum- 
 moned to. admire the flowers and rejoice in their 
 possession; and the Fairy Queen being already 
 seated upon her throne, the three came down
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 45 
 
 together, Harry carrying his present, with an air 
 of bashful pride, the two others following. 
 
 Caroline had insisted upon Harry presenting 
 his nosegay himself — and he consented ; but when 
 he entered the arbour, his usual shyness over- 
 powered him, as he saw the Duchess sitting there; 
 and going up to Flavia, who, crowned with a little 
 chaplet of roses, her white frock looped up with 
 flowers, was already placed upon her verdant chair, 
 he pushed rather than presented the flowers to her^ 
 saying, 
 
 ^^ My father sent me that, and it^s for you," 
 coloured high, and retreated. 
 
 But the rapture of the little creature restored 
 him to himself. 
 
 " Oh, George I oh, grandmamma ! what beau- 
 tiful, beautiful — curious, curious flowers ! Oh, 
 Harry, how very, very kind !" stepping off her 
 seat, and lugging the great nosegay to where the 
 Duchess sat ; '^ what beautiful, curious flowers ! 
 See, here's a butterfly ; you may touch it. Ha, 
 ha, ha ! it isn't alive — it's a real flower — it can't 
 fly away : pretty butterfly ! See, here's a beetle ; 
 look at this monstrous thing. Oh! dear, but
 
 46 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 there's a real bee in that rose ; what a monstrous 
 rose^ and how excessively lovely !" And she 
 clapped her hands, and kept walking round and 
 round her grandmamma, upon whose lap she had 
 laid the flowers. 
 
 The Duchess praised and admired; Caroline and 
 Selwyn stood by and smiled, and Harry was in a 
 state of mingled embarrassment, and pleasure; 
 Lord George stood aloof, proud, angry, jealous, 
 and gloomy. 
 
 Flavia soon took her nosegay again in both 
 hands, and saying, ^^ Now, I am to sit and hold it. 
 Sha'n't I look like a real queen, Harry ? Caro- 
 line, help me to get up again.'' — returned to where 
 her elevated seat was placed. ^^ George ! what's 
 the matter with you, George ?" said she, suddenly 
 struck with the gloomy expression of his face ; 
 " what's the matter ? Do come and look at this 
 loveliest nosegay, which Harry has given me,'^ 
 
 " I don't w^ant to look at the nosegay ; what do 
 I care for nosegays ?" said he, in a low voice and 
 irritated tone, as she went up to him; "but I 
 suppose you do — and more, perhaps, than for any- 
 thing else in the world. I suppose you'll love
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 47 
 
 Master Harry best now. I can^t get you such 
 nosegays/^ 
 
 She cast up her pretty eyes to his, — 
 
 ^^ Oh ! George ; as if that would make any dif- 
 ference/^ 
 
 And, more anxious to satisfy the feelings of her 
 cousin, than to show her gratitude for the pains 
 that had been taken to please her, she was soon 
 too much occupied with him to cast a thought or 
 a look upon the giver. 
 
 Lord George visibly triumphed ; and the three 
 were vexed and disappointed — incHned to be 
 angry at the little ungrateful one — but they ought 
 to have loved her better, because her love was not 
 to be bought.
 
 48 THE WILMINGTON'S, 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe 
 Our hermit spirits dwell, and i-ange apart; 
 
 Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow — 
 
 Hues of their own, fresh borrow'd from the heart. 
 
 T. E. Reade — Revelations of Life. 
 
 But now Caroline was summoned away, and 
 Selwyn returned to his friends^ and Harry re- 
 mained at Castle Delaval for a week alone. This 
 was a terrible time to him. 
 
 Left alone with Lord George and Flavia^ ex- 
 posed to the rude schoolboy jests and rebuffs of 
 the one, and wounded by the careless indifference 
 of the other, in vain he endeavoured to practise 
 the philosophy which his sister had recommended. 
 His spirits sank lower and lower every day ; and
 
 THE WILMINGTON'S. 49 
 
 his consciousness of this, his sense of his own in- 
 firmity, his secret vexation at his own want of 
 spirit, excited that self-dissatisfaction which makes 
 one feel as if the scorns and neglects he meets with 
 are but his due. He was more solitary and unso- 
 ciable than ever; indeed the other two left him 
 mostly to himself. They were busily engaged in 
 their own schemes, and took little notice of him, 
 except that Lord George could less than ever re- 
 sist the temptation of trying his wit upon so tempt- 
 ing a butt ; for Harry could seldom rally his spirits 
 sufficiently to parry his sarcasms with a ready 
 answer, and usually took refuge in silence. Some- 
 times Flavia would seem to take little pleasure in 
 these exhibitions of her cousin^s wit ; at others she 
 could not help laughing, George was so droll. And 
 oh, how bitter was that little childish laugh to 
 Harry's feelings ! At such times the somewhat 
 stohd equanimity which he strove to maintain was 
 overset ; the colour would rush to his cheek ; the 
 tear be scarcely by all his efforts kept from mount- 
 ing to his eye, and he would rush hastily away. 
 The loud exulting laugh of Lord George would 
 follow him, ringing odiously in his ears. Then 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 5Q THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 would he bury himself in the thickest of the copse, 
 and, hidden from every eye, would sit there moping 
 for hours. 
 
 The Duchess meanwhile saw that the boy suffered, 
 and it vexed her much. She had early, as I have 
 said, discovered under this unpromising outside 
 how many valuable qualities lay concealed. She 
 endeavoured to cheer him by the kindest atten- 
 tions ; and the few hours in each day that he passed 
 with her were comparatively happy. But in vain 
 did she try to recommend him to her grand- 
 children, and vainly did she point out the atten- 
 tions which, in their own house, common polite- 
 ness demanded. Children are usually insensible 
 to every conventional claim. Lord George un- 
 scrupulously resisted her wishes, declaring Harry 
 to be the most intolerable bore he ever met with 
 in his life ; and saying openly that he was not going 
 to have the last week of his holidays spoiled for 
 him. 
 
 Flavia seemed to think it a terrible piece of in- 
 justice that George^s holidays should be spoiled 
 for any creature upon earth ; and fully entered into 
 his view of the intolerable hardship it would be
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 51 
 
 for him to be dancing attendance upon that stupid 
 mope of a Harry Wilmington, instead of carrying 
 out all the thousand pleasant schemes in which he 
 was engaged with her, — schemes in which the little 
 girl was his most docile and obedient slave, doing 
 exactly what he bade her, however inconvenient, 
 fatiguing, or painful to herself, with the utmost 
 facility. Lord George was, in fact, four or five 
 years her senior ; and though he admired and loved 
 her beyond measure, in his way, it was in his way, 
 and in the way of many others older than himself; 
 that is to say, with much less regard to her happi- 
 ness than to his own. 
 
 Sometimes when she was quite fagged and worn 
 out with being his horse, or his lion, or his hare, 
 or whatever his fancy might please her to be, she 
 would complain very gently, and ask him when he 
 would have done play, for she was so hot, she 
 hoped he would not be very long ; and he would 
 ans wer: 
 
 "Oh, you dear little thing, don't pretend to 
 be tired. You can't be tired. I'm not the least 
 tired in the world. Come, tally-ho ! off with you, 
 or I shall cut you up where you stand." 
 
 E 2 
 
 UBRARY
 
 52 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 And then Harry, who frequently stood by a 
 silent spectator of these scenes, would feel his 
 heart glowing with indignation. But he dared not 
 interfere, — first, because he was sure there Avould 
 be a loud brawl if he did, and that would offend 
 the kind Duchess; and, secondly, that he was 
 sure if he ever hinted at blame to Lord George, 
 Flavia would instantly and warmly take his part, 
 and be more hot and angry than even he could be. 
 
 He used to content himself with bringing her 
 strawberries or water in a China cup, when she 
 stood unharnessed in her stable under the labur- 
 num trees, after a long run in George^s cabriolet ; 
 and Lord George would allow this, and call him 
 " Tom the tiger," or " Charles Dickens's fat boy," 
 or "Tony Lumpkin," — which insults, though 
 they could not drive Harry to abandon his labours 
 of love, effectually took all the sweetness out of 
 them. 
 
 " Oh ! dear, dear George, don't ask me to run 
 again ; I am so very, very tired," remonstrated the 
 poor little pony ; as many another poor little pony 
 might do, if it had tongue to speak and tearful 
 eyes to add force to the appeal.
 
 THE WILMINGTON'S. 53 
 
 "Well, now, Flavia, just when P\'e finished 
 this new harness — only look, how Fve contrived 
 it ; and there's a real little saddle for your back, 
 just like Grey Gilbert's harness." 
 
 ^^But I don't like to wear a saddle — a real 
 saddle upon my back," said the little girl, looking 
 disgusted and half-terrified ; ^* I'm not a real 
 pony." 
 
 ^* Nonsense ! You ought to make yourself as 
 like a pony as you can ; or what's the use of my 
 playing at horse-and-carriage with you at all ? 
 You're growing quite ill-natured, Flavia; I can't 
 think what's come to you : but I'm not going to 
 put up with your childish whims. You engaged 
 to come out and play at pony ; and here I've been 
 all this morning making this saddle : so come, 
 gee whup ! — stand still — let me put your harness 
 onj or you'll have a taste of my whip, little Colonel; 
 see if you don't." 
 
 '•' No — no, George," with a look of terror ; 
 ^•prav don't." 
 
 A child of that age has a horror indescribable 
 at the idea of being touched by the whip. 
 
 " Then do as you are bid, or I'll be as good as
 
 54 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 my word — see if I won^t. You grow quite pro- 
 voking/^ 
 
 '^ And you grow so cross — and you're tyran- 
 nical.'' 
 
 " Say that again, if you dare. Tyrannical ! 
 I'm sure that word's been put into your mouth. 
 Tell me this moment, Flavia, who dared teach 
 you to call me tyrannical? I'm sure I care for 
 you more than anything in the whole world ; but 
 I won't bear your whims and tempers more than 
 anybody's — and I won't bear to be called names, 
 and above all, ^tyrannical.' It's no word of yours. 
 Who put it into your mouth ? Was it that great 
 Tony Lumpkin — that envious, awkward booby, 
 Harry?" 
 
 "Oh, you're there. Master Harry!" suddenly 
 turning round. " What brought you here, if you 
 please, sir ?" 
 
 " I heard you talk of using your whip to Flavia," 
 said Harry, doggedly, " and I came here to tell 
 you I wouldn't suffer it." 
 
 " You not suffer it ! What business have you 
 
 to interfere between me and my own cousin 
 
 .Master Jackanapes? Go about your business
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 55 
 
 you city put/^ cried Lord George, in a passion ; 
 ^' don^t meddle with us/^ 
 
 "These are your grandmother's grounds, and 
 you may do and say what you please to me ; but 
 in no grounds and no place will I stand by and 
 see a little girl tyrannized over by a big boy/' 
 said Harry, sturdily ; for his blood was thoroughly 
 up. 
 
 "Tyrannized! — tyrannical! Oh, you've taught 
 her the word ; I thought so. Take that — for 
 meddling between me and mine," cried Lord 
 George, passionately, endeavouring to strike him. 
 But Harry parried the blow, and the next moment 
 laid his rival at his feet. 
 
 The blood gushed from his mouth and 
 nose. 
 
 Flavia, who had stood by almost petrified with 
 terror at this scene, looking in a bewildered man- 
 ner, first at one and then at the other, at this 
 spectacle uttered a scream of horror, and calling 
 out, " Oh, you naughty, wicked boy ! how dare 
 you. You have killed him," threw herself upon 
 the ground by her fallen knight, and tried to 
 raise his head, calling out, " Oh, George, are you
 
 56 THE WILMINGTOXS. 
 
 hurt? — Are you hurt? — Are you killed? — Wicked 
 boy! — Where is it ? — Are you killed ?'' 
 
 " No; it's only my nose bleeds a little/^ said 
 Lord George^ getting up from the ground, and 
 taking her in his arms and kissing her. " You're 
 a dear generous little creature, Flavia; and how 
 could I talk of whipping you? I'll never do it 
 again, believe me ; and as for that fellow who 
 threw me down^ — why it's truth I struck at him 
 first, and so he'd a right, — and Pm not much 
 hurt. Here, Wilmington, there's my hand, if you 
 like; but mind what I say, — if you ever dare come 
 meddling and mixing between Flavia and me 
 again, I'll thrash you, sir, that I will, though I 
 were to fall dead the next moment after doing it." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the effect produced 
 upon Harry by this scene and by this speech, 
 or the confusion of thought which it had pro- 
 duced. 
 
 W^ith a temper such as his, no effort cost him 
 so much as the one he had just made. To put 
 himself forward to interfere in the concerns of 
 others was always repugnant to him. He had 
 been worked up to energy by his indignation at
 
 THE WILMTNGTONS. 5J 
 
 the tvranny which Lord George, in spite of the 
 love he professed, was continually exercising over 
 this little girl; and the idea of his venturing to 
 threaten her with the lash had roused him into a 
 paroxysm approaching to fury. He had felt all 
 this for her; he had stepped forward to defend her 
 from wrong, and avenge her injuries: and this was 
 the return from him and from her. From him, a 
 sort of generous forgiveness, — from her, nothing 
 but looks of mingled dread and abhorrence as 
 regarded himself, and of love and pity as regarded 
 his rival. 
 
 From that day he became more than ever dull 
 and melancholy; he took no further notice of 
 Flavia, and only counted the hours till he should 
 return home. 
 
 The remainder of tiie week was long afterwards 
 empressed upon his memory, as one of the deepest 
 gloom and mortification; but it was illuminated 
 by one bright gleam at the end. 
 
 It was the last evening he was to stay, and he 
 was walking in a retired walk formed by a close- 
 clipped yew hedge, upon the other side of which 
 there was a terrace forming another walk. As
 
 58 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 here he was sauntering tip and down^ he heard 
 voices approaching, and before he was aware, these 
 words reached him : 
 
 " You may say what you like, George, but I 
 am sorry for him/^ 
 
 " He^s as ill-tempered, surly, ill-mannered, a 
 cub as ever I saw in my life." 
 
 ^^ He wasn't always so." 
 
 ^^ Well, he^s so now, — and that's enough for 
 me." 
 
 "^ I don't think we've been good-natured to him 
 since the others went." 
 
 ^^ I don't care whether we have or not; I'm not 
 come here to spend my holidays in making the 
 civil to lubbers like that." 
 
 '' He is very ugly, but he used to be very kind 
 about the strawberries; and I'm sorry I've been 
 ungrateful, that I am." 
 
 A servant in a splendid livery^ driving a pair 
 of beautiful horses in a somewhat too showy
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 59 
 
 phaeton^ came to fetch Harry away. He was to 
 join his father and mother at a sea-bathing place^ 
 at no great distance from Castle Delaval. Lord 
 George and Flavia stood together at the breakfast- 
 room window as the handsome equipage passed 
 by to the door^ where it remained awaiting 
 Harr)'. Lord George surveyed it with something 
 very like envy. 
 
 '^ Oh! what a beautiful pair of horses/^ said 
 Flavia; "and what a pretty carriage! I wonder 
 whether Harry can drive them himself/^ 
 
 " No,-.no,— ril be bound/^ 
 
 " You'd like to have such a pair to drive, 
 wouldn't you, George? and how well youM drive 
 them V' 
 
 " Like to have ! — No, I shouldn't like to have 
 anything so vulgar and fine. Why, the harness 
 is plated all over, I think; and the carriage! — did 
 you ever see such a thing?" 
 
 " It's very pretty, I think." 
 
 " I suppose you'd like a ride in it?" 
 
 " Yes, very much. — I wish mamma, or grand- 
 mamma, would have phaetons, — or your mamma, 
 George, and then you'd drive me."
 
 60 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say. And now, T dare say, you're 
 longing to drive with Harry. Oh, yes, you'd soon 
 forsake me for him, if you saw these fine things 
 every day," said her cousin pettishly. 
 
 ^^ You think I should ? Very well. But I never 
 like anybody the better for being fine ; and that 
 you ought to know, George. I don't love fine 
 things. At least, some way, where people have all 
 sorts of fine things I think it makes 'em disagree- 
 able. I don't like the girls at school for it ; and 
 I am glad grandmamma does not make me fine. 
 And if I like Harry at all — and sometimes I do 
 like him, though you say he is such a lout, — it's 
 not because he is, but because he isn't fine. 
 Nor Caroline either. They're not a bit fine. They 
 could be if they would ; for their father's as rich 
 — as rich — as this," stretching out her arms wide. 
 "And sometimes, George," said she, looking at 
 him slyly, ^^ I think you would be fine if you 
 could, — and then I like them better than you." 
 
 " If you dare to say that again I'll kill you," 
 seizing her arm angrily and shaking it. 
 
 " Don't, George," she said. "I don't like you 
 when you are cross."
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 61 
 
 " You ought not to provoke me beyond bearing, 
 then. You know one unkind word from you 
 drives me mad. I can't bear you to say such 
 things, Flavia. You know I can^t.'' 
 
 " Well, then," yielding and gentle as usual, ^^Pm 
 sure I won't. I am so sorry when I vex you, 
 George; but I wish 1 could say what comes into 
 my head as it comes, without making you so 
 angry." 
 
 Harry entered to bid them good-bye. 
 " Farewell, Miss Flavia," he said. " Farewell, 
 Lord George." 
 
 He certainly did not look the least elevated 
 by the prospect of driving off in the beautiful 
 phaeton. But he was very glad to go, and he was 
 more animated than usual, and looked happier. 
 
 "Farewell," said Lord George. '^•'That's a 
 dandy sort of thing your father has got there." 
 
 "Is it?" said Harry. "Oh, yes, I see he's 
 sent the phaeton. He's very good-natured. He 
 knows how I like driving it." 
 
 '• Do you drive those spirited, prancing horses 
 yourself, Harry r" said little Flavia. 
 
 " To be sure I do. Why should'nt I ?"
 
 62 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 He visibly rose in the little lady's esteem. 
 
 Lord George said nothing; but he felt all the 
 uncomfortable feelings which envy and jealousy 
 combined produce. He could not bear the idea 
 of Harry not only possessing the right, but the 
 power^ to drive away before his cousin in this 
 dashing style. He measured the effect produced 
 upon her by that produced upon himself. 
 
 He did her very great injustice. 
 
 She was only pleased to see a trait of manliness 
 where she had not expected it. She was still 
 perfectly insensible to the show and parade. 
 
 However, the parting was now over. Harry 
 ascended his father's phaeton, the servant surren- 
 dered the reins into his hands, and away he drove, 
 in a style that astonished Lord George, who 
 henceforward never despised him altogether, as 
 he had ventured to do before. 
 
 He began, however, turning to Flavia, to abuse 
 the carriage again ; to declare it the vulgarest and 
 most tawdry set-out he had ever seen ; and to 
 ridicule the way in which Harry Wilmington held 
 the reins. 
 
 She detected something of the envy that was so
 
 THE WILMINGTONS, 63 
 
 clumsily concealed, and wished George would 
 not talk in this way, — and she thought she liked 
 him a good deal less for it; but he soon recovered 
 his good humour when the cause which excited it 
 had passed away, and was as lively and pleasant 
 as ever. 
 
 Did Flavia as soon forget all these diflferent im- 
 pressions ? 
 
 Tliese slight sketches will suffice to show what 
 these young people were as children. 
 
 Some years have passed over their heads before 
 we meet them again.
 
 64 THE WILMIXGTONS, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I felt a moral joy akin to pride, 
 While watching her : to see such human flowers. 
 
 T. E. Reade. 
 
 The carriage in which Harry is traveUing to 
 rejoin his father and mother, is bound for the 
 same sea-bathing place to which, in the enviable 
 phaeton, he had driven himself some years before. 
 When he arrived at his journey's end, it stopped 
 before the door of a splendid lodging-house — the 
 largest, the most handsomely furnished, and the 
 best situated of all belonging to this sea-bathing 
 place, where Mr. and Mrs. Wilmington were at 
 present residing.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 65 
 
 The sparkling sea washed the outer edge of the 
 broad esplanade upon which the houses were 
 situated, and the waves, with their lulling sound, 
 were heard hoarsely breaking against it. It was a 
 bright, beautiful, gleaming day, and the sun shone 
 upon the green ocean ; the esplanade was covered 
 with gay groups of people walking up and down 5 
 and attending the very gayest of these groups, 
 consisting of some very showily-dressed ladies, 
 and flashy-looking, handsome young men, the 
 very gayest-looking, the handsomest, and may it 
 not be said, most flashy among them all, Harry 
 descried his father. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington was a tall, finely-made man ; 
 and there was a sort of natural elegance in his 
 face and figure, which he strove to set off to the 
 very best advantage by every means in his power. 
 Every means which the expenditure of money 
 could secure, he certainly could command; and 
 therefore his dress was most rigorously arranged 
 after the first models, and came from the hands of 
 the most fashionable (then) tailor -, and the rest of 
 his attire, his boots, his hat, his cane — everything, 
 in short, being from the hands of artists most 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 66 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 eminent in their line. Nothing was ever spared 
 in any way^ that could render him the complete 
 gentleman^ as he thought — and yet, in all that goes 
 to form a just idea of the complete gentleman, 
 how much was sadly wanting ! Perhaps he had 
 an obscure consciousness of this himself; and 
 that feeling it was which gave a certain effort and 
 anxiety to his manner when in company with 
 those moving in circles superior to his own, — for 
 which little humiliation, it must be confessed, 
 he amply repaid himself, when in society with 
 equals or inferiors, by the easy complacency, 
 amounting to self-sufficiency, with which he carried 
 himself. He was at this present moment in that 
 happy mood and the highest spirits, attending 
 upon some dashing young ladies now at the place, 
 who held a nominal rank above his own. They 
 were, nevertheless, evidently pleased and happy, 
 dashing and fashionable as they were, to number 
 the rich and handsome Mr. Wilmington as one 
 of their train. 
 
 Hi& wife was almost entirely confined to the 
 house by the state of her health, and his time was 
 therefore much at his own disposal ; not that he
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. l^ 
 
 was guilty — fond of show and display as he was — of 
 unkindness or neglect : he gave her as much of 
 his time and his company, and a great deal more 
 of his money, than she wanted. She was, as I 
 have said, of so different a disposition from his, 
 that his society was in fact of little or no value to 
 her ; so that she was better pleased when he was 
 amusing himself in the above way, than if he had 
 devoted all his time to her. But this she scrupu- 
 lously concealed from her children, carefully 
 bringing them up to love and respect the man she 
 once had loved too well herself — a task in which 
 she had as yet pretty well succeeded, Mr. Wil- 
 mington^s good humour and ready indulgence had 
 won the love of his children ; and they were yet 
 both of them too young to detect the absence of 
 those qualities which would have demanded their 
 respect. 
 
 Seeing the carriage drive up the esplanade, 
 Mr. Wilmington was not sorry to stop, under 
 pretence of speaking to Harry, and display his 
 very handsome equipage to the admiring com- 
 pany. 
 
 ^^ Well, Harry, my boy, how goes it ? How did 
 
 f2
 
 68 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 you leave our good friends, and the young ladies, 
 and all you left behind you ?^' 
 
 ^^Oh! thank you, sir, aU very well. Whereas 
 my mother V 
 
 "Up stairs in the dining-room there, and 
 Caroline with her/^ 
 
 Harry sprang from the carriage, shook hands 
 with his father, and was soon up stairs. 
 
 The room was darkened, the mother lay as 
 usual upon her couch, breathing with difficulty 
 and suffering much. Caroline was sitting by her 
 at work, endeavouring to amuse her with such of 
 the little chit-chat of the place as she had been 
 able to pick up. 
 
 "Is that you — is that my own boy ?'' 
 
 " Yes, dearest, dearest mother — and oh ! so 
 glad to come home again/^ 
 
 ^^ Are you, my dear fellow ? Come to me, let 
 me have a kiss from my dear boy. Draw the 
 blind a little, Carry, that I may see how he is 
 looking. Dear boy ! — so well ! — and yet — have 
 you been enjoying yourself, my own V 
 
 " I ought to have been,^^ said her son, '^ and it 
 is my own fault if I have not j but, mother, you
 
 THE WILMINGTONS, 69' 
 
 know what a shy, dull fellow I am anywhere but 
 at home with you. I sometimes think that your 
 love spoils me, dear mother — your tenderness 
 and partiality make me too sensible of the slights 
 and indifference of others ; — but don't talk of it, 
 dear mother — Caroline lectures me about these 
 things; and when I am out of company, I am so 
 glad to have done thinking about it, and enjoy 
 my dear, dear home again. How well my father 
 is looking ! and what a charming house you have 
 got ! — and this delicious sea ! — Does my father 
 boat?^^ 
 
 '• Do you not know V said his mother. " Per- 
 hap he means to surprise you. Your father has 
 bought the Esmeralda, Sir William Hereford's 
 yacht, the largest and most beautiful vessel in the 
 club — she lies moored at no great distance. It 
 was very kindly done of him — he thought a sea 
 voyage might be of use to me; but I think j 
 would rather stay quietly where I am ; — however 
 you and Caroline will enjoy it." 
 
 " Dear mother, we shall not either of us enjoy 
 it much withoutyou," said both.
 
 f^ THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Harry's mother was a very thin, pale, delicate 
 woman, with nerves of the most sickly irritability, 
 uncertain spirits, and little, if any, physical 
 strength ; one of those imperfect and feeble con- 
 stitutions which render the body, as it were, the 
 prison instead of the instrument of the mind, — a 
 troublesome, impeding tyrant, instead of the glad 
 and obedient minister it ought to be. It was 
 probably from her that the young man had 
 derived that constitutional shyness, self-distrust 
 and timidity, which amounted almost to infirmity, 
 and interfered so much with his happiness, and at 
 times even with his usefulness ; but from her he 
 might in compensation justly claim the noble 
 inheritance of a clear and sound understanding, 
 and a heart as free from selfishness, vanity, or 
 folly of this nature, as ever beat in the human 
 bosom. 
 
 Mrs. Wilmington was so completely a prisoner, 
 so entirely confined to her drawing-room sofa, 
 and to gentle airings in her own close carriage, 
 that it was almost impossible for a wife and a 
 mother to take less part than she, was able to do 
 in the superintendence of her household. The
 
 THE WIL.MINGTONS. 71 
 
 fine brown-eyed girl, so erect and spirited in look 
 and gesture, whom it was difficult to believe 
 could be the daughter of so frail a being, had, 
 therefore, as I have told you, received the 
 usual routine of education at a fashionable school; 
 here she had found herself entirely out of her 
 element, and had made no figure in those accom- 
 plishments which form so large an object of 
 attention in such places: however, as she held 
 up her head remarkably well, and showed a 
 decided taste for Algebra, Greek, and Geology, all 
 which were among the accomplishments professed 
 to be taught at Mrs. Steelcollars^, she was almost 
 but not quite as great a favourite with that lady, 
 as the tall and beautiful Miss Emerson, who 
 danced like an angel and played like Henry 
 Herz. 
 
 The higher part of her education, however, 
 she had acquired for herself or imbibed from 
 her mother. Her moral and mental education 
 had been complete. With her mother she had 
 read and conversed, and her mind had been 
 opened and cultivated by the side of that sick 
 couch in a way that few governesses and no school
 
 72 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 could have accomplished. The rare abilities and 
 noble qualities of this fine girl expanded under 
 this culture, and she was now as remarkable for 
 her mental accomplishments as for her extraor- 
 dinary strength of comprehension, rectitude of 
 judgment, and force of character. 
 
 The care of Harry had been a still dearer task 
 than even this : Mrs. Wilmington perfectly doted 
 upon her son. She loved her husband too, dearly, in 
 spite of the little intrinsic worth of his character: 
 charmed with his gaiety, captivated by the extra- 
 ordinary beauty of his face and figure, Mrs. Wil- 
 mington seemed to have overlooked those defects 
 in both manner and mind w^hich had been evident 
 enough to some of her friends. His affectionate 
 attentions during this long course of delicate 
 health, w^hich might almost be called an uninter- 
 rupted illness, had strengthened her affection. 
 Like many fond and partial w^omen, she never 
 seemed to be aware of his many defects ; and yet 
 there was a something wanting, which w^as rather 
 felt than confessed. 
 
 Proud as he was of his marriage with a woman 
 of her birth and connections, he would have been
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. JS 
 
 himself more in his element with a more ordinary- 
 person. They loved each other, but could not 
 suffice to each other^s happiness. He could find 
 delight in nothing but expense and gaiety ; she 
 in nothing but quiet and domesticity. It does 
 not appear, however, that Mr. Wilmington^s pro- 
 fuse and extravagant habits, or his passion for dis- 
 play, ever excited the least uneasiness in his wife's 
 mind. She knew nothing of business, and, like 
 many other women, considered it a matter com- 
 pletely out of her sphere ; indeed, rather piqued 
 herself upon knowing nothing about it, as women 
 are too apt to do upon their ignorance of anything 
 they esteem unfeminine or ungraceful. It was a 
 weakness. Mrs. Wilmington was far from being 
 faultless ; she was much like the majority of us, — 
 had some fine and good qualities, and many weak- 
 nesses : had most pure and upright intentions, and 
 yet made many mistakes. 
 
 Her complete abandonment of herself to this 
 nervous weakness and incapacity, — the manner in 
 which she allowed herself to be conquered by the 
 body, — was probably one. We must not judge 
 others harshly, particularly in such cases. Few
 
 74 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 know what efforts have been made, or what was or 
 was not in the sufferer's power, called to this war of 
 the soul against the incapacitating infirmities of the 
 body. But, if the truth is to be told, I am afraid 
 Mrs. Wilmington never had attempted that fight 
 with the persevering earnestness and energy which 
 alone can hold out the chance of victory. 
 
 The excessive indulgence of her husband, and 
 the life of unbounded luxury in which she lived, 
 doubtless contributed to produce an enervating 
 effect. 
 
 However, though her bodily habits were so 
 languid and indolent, her mind, it is but justice to 
 say, maintained considerable activity, and her 
 children profited largely by that constant commu- 
 nication with her which habits domestic as hers 
 allowed. 
 
 One quality she possessed in the highest degree : 
 she was a woman of the nicest feelings of honour. 
 She had been brought up among people where 
 sentiments, quite chivalric in this respect, were 
 habitual. The only thing that she distrusted, that 
 she did not quite like in her husband, was a some- 
 thing — a certain want of delicacy in regard to money
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 75 
 
 matters, which troubled her; particularly if he 
 ever happened to allude to his speculations and 
 plans for getting money before her, which, indeed, 
 was very rarely the case. 
 
 The advantage taken amid rising and falling 
 markets, of intelligence withheld from others, 
 and by which speculations were guided through 
 which others must inevitably become losers, hurt 
 and perplexed her ; and she would, in her softest 
 voice, and with her gentlest manner, hint her 
 doubts and her scruples. But her gay partner 
 would silence her with a kiss, bidding her hold 
 her pretty tongue, and not meddle with matters it 
 was impossible she should comprehend. 
 
 " Let me get the money, and you only busy 
 yourself with spending it. Diamond cut diamond 
 is the soul of commercial transactions, and what 
 every one engaged in them thoroughly under- 
 stands. What ! my sweet casuist, you would not 
 have me go into the market crippled by a thou- 
 sand imaginary scruples, which never enter the 
 heads of the men I have to meet there ? — I should 
 soon be in the Gazette, if I did. Depend upon 
 it, my dear, every man upon ^Change knows very
 
 76 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 well how to take care of himself; and it's much 
 better as it is, than if everybody were taking care 
 of everybody. How would business get on in that 
 case, do you think ? Such ideas are only fit for 
 your noodle of a Harry ; he's quite up to them, 
 which you and he may thank Heaven I am not. 
 But as his fortune will be made for him, he will 
 be able to indulge the luxury of such nice notions, 
 which poor devils like myself unfortunately are 
 not/' 
 
 Thus would he run on. And this noodle of a 
 Harry, this boy whom the father so little under- 
 stood, and so greatly undervalued, oh ! how dear 
 was the delicate-minded, high-souled, sensitive 
 being to the mother's heart ! Far, far the dearer 
 because he was not his father's favourite ; far, far 
 the dearer because she looked upon him in that 
 sacred hght of one unfortunate, which exercises 
 such a holy influence over the mother's 
 feelings. 
 
 She would turn to this idol of her soul, this 
 ideal iniage of the excellent and the pure, which 
 her son's character, as she fondly painted it to 
 herself, presented; and she would strive to add
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. f'j 
 
 one touch, one line more to this fair portraiture of 
 moral beauty. 
 
 And thus Harry had grown up. 
 
 He was not sent to a great school : he neither 
 received the advantages, nor was exposed to the 
 disadvantages of that system of education. In 
 general, I think I have observed, that those more 
 privately educated receive a higher culture, and 
 have most of their faculties more fully and com- 
 pletely developed than those who have in public 
 schools been called upon to make their own way, 
 and take their chance in the world; but then, 
 one, perhaps, the most important among all the 
 powers, is often found to be weak — namely, that 
 readiness — aptness — cleverness — which may be 
 named the faculty of using the rest. 
 
 Harry, of all boys in the world, was the fittest 
 to be trusted to the chances of a public educa- 
 tion,, for in spite of his sensitiveness and timidity, 
 few boys possessed a higher moral sense, or more 
 admirable moral courage — and the shyness and 
 unhandiness, if I may say so, which proved to him 
 so great an obstruction, would thus, there is little 
 doubt, have been corrected.
 
 78 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 It was not his father's fault that he was not 
 sent to Eton or Harrow. Not that Mr. Wilming- 
 ton had any very refined views as to causes and 
 effects in education : he looked no further than to 
 those places being fashionable, and where his son 
 would meet with good company, and might form 
 useful and modish acquaintance. Upon this 
 account he advocated the plan ; but the mother's 
 fears were not to be overcome. 
 
 She had heard of the barbarities of fagging, 
 which at that period indeed were sometimes very 
 great — of all sorts of dreadful accidents, which, 
 lumped together, instead of taken upon the aver- 
 age of numbers, are undoubtedly appalling for a 
 mother to think of. These things were sufficient 
 to shake her sensitive nerves ; but she had a better 
 reason : — she had heard of the vices and the follies 
 too often practised where numbers of boys are 
 thus brought together, and she was terrified at this 
 beyond measure. To expose her innocent boy to 
 such contamination, was an idea too dreadful. 
 She forgot how many good boys would be found 
 in a large community ; and that a boy of good dis- 
 position and well brought up at home, could, and
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 79 
 
 would choose his associates from among them, and 
 she did not rightly estimate Harry's disposition. 
 She feared he would prove facile, because he was 
 gentle and obliging ; and a moral coward, because 
 he was a social one. Her heart shrunk from ex- 
 posing her treasure to these fiery trials. And 
 what mother^s heart but must tremble and shud- 
 der when first she sends the sweet innocent being 
 from the shelter of her anxious care, to peril 
 the purity of his heart, and the health of hisframe, 
 and expose his virtue and happiness to all these 
 rude chances? 
 
 Who can wonder ? and what shall we say ? 
 Except that happily the spirit of improvement 
 has reached these ancient seats of education; 
 that the evils are vastly diminished, and the good 
 to be derived from them vastly enhanced ; and that 
 the man seems upon the whole to profit by this 
 species of early discipline of the boy, among 
 the struggles and temptations to which he is ex- 
 posed with his fellows. Still, enough remains 
 uncorrected to terrify any conscientious mother. 
 
 So Harry was sent to a very select private 
 school, where few were admitted — where Lord
 
 80 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 George went as a young boy upon his passage to 
 Eton, but where Selwyn and himself completed 
 their school education. 
 
 " We shall not either of us enjoy it much with- 
 out you/^ said both. 
 
 " But I hope you will, my dears, or your father 
 will be grievously disappointed; for to enjoy it 
 myself is really impossible. I could not bear the 
 sea-sickness even for an hour, still less all the little 
 fatigues to which the day will give rise. But you 
 two must go and be as happy as you possibly 
 can ; for, next to pleasing me,^^ she added, with a 
 tender smile, " the greatest satisfaction your dear 
 father has upon earth, is to give pleasure to his 
 children.^^ 
 
 Perhaps that was not altogether the fact ; but 
 she thought so; and, as far as she was concerned, 
 that was as well. 
 
 ^^I shall like the yachting well enough,^^ said 
 Harry. " I think I should like it very much if 
 Carry, and I, and Selwyn, and my father had it to
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 81 
 
 ourselves; but there will be a crowd of people on 
 board that I neither know nor care for, — and in 
 that case I would rather be anywhere else in the 
 world. I detest fine people.^' 
 
 "Ah, Harry!" said the gentle mother, "how I 
 dislike to hear you talk in that manner ! Will you 
 never be ashamed of being such a young savage ? 
 Shall I never reconcile my own boy to civilized 
 society ? Do you know, dear, the more you dis- 
 like it, the more I think you ought to be forced 
 into it? Don^t you, dear Carry?" 
 
 '^ That I do, mamma. I can't think what it is 
 that Harry abominates so much in society. I am 
 sure I find almost everybody tolerable, and most 
 people pleasant. Though I don't suppose one 
 must expect many people to be particularly amia- 
 ble, wise, or charming, like you, dear mamma." 
 
 "That's it," said Harry. "I like nobody's 
 company but yours and Carry's. That quite con- 
 tents me; and if it contents you, I do not see that 
 I am bound to content other people." 
 
 "'But what if it does not quite content me? 
 And what if it does not at all content your 
 father?" 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! but^ mother, be reasonable. Let it con- 
 tent you, and as for my father, I don't think he 
 cares much about it. And, indeed, I do him so 
 little credit, — I am so loutish and so stupid, — that 
 he would be better pleased, I believe, never to 
 have me with him in company. He likes Carry. 
 Carry is handsome, and clever, and gay, and holds 
 up her head, and walks firm; — I am ugly, and 
 slow, and dull, and hold my head down, and walk 
 with my knees knocking together. What can my 
 father do but be ashamed of such a son, — and 
 what better than leave him to keep company with 
 a dear, dear mother, who loves him in spite of all 
 his wantings ? '^ 
 
 ^^ Ah, Harry ! But why will you be stupid, 
 and dull, and hold down your head, and hesitate 
 in your walk?^^ said Caroline. "If you would 
 take mammals advice, and go out a good deal 
 more, and use yourself to company, you would 
 lose all those disagreeable feelings ; and then my 
 father would be as proud of you as he is fond of 
 you;— for he loves you exceedingly in his heart. 
 That I am certain of.^' 
 
 ^^ Then he is a most generous and affectionate
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 83 
 
 father/^ said Harry with feeling, "to love one 
 who must be a constant source of mortification to 
 a man so brilliant as himself. But you are right, 
 Carohne; never son met with more indulgence 
 from a father in every way than I have done from 
 mine/^ 
 
 '^ If you thought it would please him, dear 
 mother/^ turning to her, " that I should go upon 
 this yachting party, I am sure that would make it 
 quite a different thing. I ought to say the same 
 of pleasing you, — only that I know it is only with 
 reference to my own good that you care about it — 
 but if it were possible that it would please him, I 
 would go there or anywhere you liked.'^ 
 
 •'^I am sure it would please your father very 
 much, my dear/^ 
 
 Did she really think this ? or was she, in her 
 weakness, indulging in one of those deviations 
 from the exact truth for the sake of apparent 
 good, which is the fatal temptation of the 
 feeble ? 
 
 She had not the strength to assume the mother's 
 authority. She felt glad to get off so easily ; to 
 take advantage of her son's grateful desire to 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE WILMINGTONS, 
 
 gratify his father, and thus engage him to do what 
 she thought advantageous for himself. 
 
 Mischief most often arises from these httle 
 deviations from the exact truth, which many- 
 people think so harmless. But I don^t know 
 that any great harm ensued here ; except that 
 it added to the delusion with regard to his 
 father^s real character, which the mother would, 
 with her ideas, have thought it an. advantage to 
 maintain. 
 
 ^^Then I am sure I ought to go,^^ said the son; 
 ^^ and I will go. But who is to be of this yacht 
 party }" 
 
 " Oh, some very fine people," said Caroline, 
 laughing ; " but mamma and I would not tell you 
 till you w'ere a good boy, and had promised to go, 
 for fear you should take fright. There will be 
 one that you love, some that you hate ; — but you 
 must get over that nonsense, dear Harry, for 
 Lord George is a good-natured fellow ; and then 
 there will be the dear, good Duchess, who has 
 promised to come and chaperon Flavia, because 
 her mother is at Paris." 
 
 Harry made no reply to this, but turned away
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 85 
 
 to the window, and looked out upon the espla- 
 nade. 
 
 It was now crowded with company; but he 
 could easily distinguish the fine tall figure of his 
 father, busily engaged in conversation with the 
 shewy party among which he had first seen him. 
 His eye followed him for some time with a strange 
 mingled feeling of admiration and dissatisfaction. 
 It was impossible for him not to admire that 
 brilliant appearance ; and, perhaps, as he glanced 
 at his own short and unambitious figure a some- 
 thing almost like envy might mingle with his 
 admiration ; for who that has ever loved, and 
 distrusted his own personal attractions, but has 
 felt a touch of that bitter feeling when placed in 
 strong contrast with another, and that other so 
 singularly endowed in this respect as was the 
 handsome Mr. Wilmington ? 
 
 But it was not transient feelings such as these, 
 which lay at the root of that obscure sentiment of 
 distrust and dissatisfaction, — as I have called it 
 — which began now to mingle, almost impercepti- 
 bly to himself, with Harry's feelings, as regarded 
 his father. In the first place, his taste, which was
 
 86 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 SO pure and delicate, revolted instinctively against 
 everything that in the least degree bordered upon 
 pretension, affectation, or display. He carried 
 this delicacy to excess, as affected himself, — 
 almost to a pernicious excess. He was ready, in 
 his abhorrence of varnish, to neglect polish, — a 
 mistake into which men of his temper are apt to 
 fall ; and from the ill effects of which he was, I 
 think, preserved only by the extreme gentleness 
 and unselfishness of his temper. 
 
 One so gentle could not be rough: one so 
 unselfish could not be rude. He might be awk- 
 ward though, and that he was ; but to a person of 
 fine taste his little awkwardnesses would have 
 been redeemed by the truth and simplicity which 
 pervaded every action, — would have been a thou- 
 sand times more pleasing than the somewhat 
 flashy and overdone manners of the father. It 
 was this flashiness, this love of display, and, 
 above all, this manner of the ci-devant jeune 
 homme, which Harry could not endure. It irri- 
 tated hitn beyond measure. Yet such was the 
 simplicity of his filial piety, that he resisted such 
 feelings whenever they arose, and tried to per-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 8? 
 
 suade himself that the fault lay in his own fas- 
 tidiousness and singularity. But there were other 
 and still more serious grounds of uneasiness and 
 suspicion, which began to take rise as the young 
 man advanced in age, and became an observer — 
 a quiet but acute observer — of what was passing 
 around him. This was his father's excessive 
 passion for display, and habits of unbounded 
 expense. It was not as yet so much as a matter 
 of prudence, — for he had not the slightest reason 
 to doubt his father's means of supplying this 
 lavish expenditure, — as a matter of feeling and 
 principle. 
 
 In this respect, — almost an exception to young 
 men of the present day, — Harry positively dis- 
 liked extravagance and luxury, even when justified 
 by the most abundant fortune. The splendid 
 apartments, the gilding, the painting, the plate, 
 the, glass, the velvets the grand feasts, — nay, 
 even the highly ornamented gardens of his 
 father's magnificent house at Roehampton, — were 
 oppressive and distasteful to him. His own apart- 
 ment, in the midst of so much splendour, was 
 fitted up with an almost Spartan simplicity.
 
 88 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 He left the berceaux, the parterres, the beautiful 
 plantations of his father's gardens, and loved to 
 wander amidst the trees and shades of Wimble- 
 don Park, to listen to the lowing cattle, the 
 nightingales singing in the thickets, and watch 
 the sun rise upon the dewy grass, whilst the 
 breath of morning played upon his pure young 
 brow. 
 
 In dress it was the same : his father's splendid 
 waistcoats, inestimable diamond ring, and studs 
 that might have been fitted for an emperor, were 
 to him positive sources of pain. In vain his fond 
 mother, — in vain his lavish and indulgent father, 
 bought choice ornaments for their son, — he re- 
 ceived them with feelings of a tender gratitude, 
 which glistened in his dark eye, and coloured his 
 pale cheek ; but not even the aflfection such little 
 cares inspired, could induce him to wear such 
 ornaments. 
 
 When reproached tenderly with this by his 
 mother, he would smile gently, and say that his 
 person was too plain to bear lighting up, — that 
 the less observation he excited the better, — he 
 should make his way, — that it was his father's part
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 89 
 
 to shine and his to be obscure, and the more 
 obscure the better for him. 
 
 Caroline would stand by whilst these little 
 discussions were going on, with her large dark 
 eyes fixed upon her brother, and her expressive 
 and finely-moulded countenance filled with looks 
 of love and approbation, — an intensity of sisterly 
 admiration and affection ! but she never said any- 
 thing, — there was a sympathy between these two 
 so strong tliat words were unnecessary. Caroline 
 adhered to the same simplicity of taste and habits 
 as her brother; the fine young creature was always 
 dressed with the utmost simplicity: but then, 
 everything she wore became her so well, that 
 neither father, mother, nor friend could wish for 
 an alteration. 
 
 Harry, as he now stood at the window, watching 
 the scene before him, became aware of the beau- 
 tiful yacht which was just approaching the land, 
 all sails set, streamers flying, and bearing herself 
 gracefully before the wind. He could not but 
 admire the lovely vessel, which was of consider- 
 able size for a pleasure yacht — as there she came 
 forward over the sparkling waves, like a beau-
 
 90 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 tiful sea-bird, with her snowy wings expanded 
 for flight. 
 
 " Here comes the Esmeralda/^ lie said, turning 
 to his sister. '^ Dear mother, do not you think 
 it would do you good to take one sail? she is a 
 charming craft indeed. Impossible/^ added he, 
 smiling, "for any one to be sea-sick upon her; 
 and the day is delightful/^ 
 
 " No, my dear,^^ said the poor captive of infirm 
 nerves, " I am not equal to it ; — but I hear your 
 father's impatient step upon the stairs. Carry, 
 are you ready }'' 
 
 *^ In one moment, mamma.'' 
 
 Mr. Wilmington entered the room rather in a 
 bustle and a flurry. 
 
 '^ Harry, boy, are you ready? Is that the best 
 sea cloak you have, lad ? Really, if that is your 
 costume, young man, I shall be obliged to send 
 you to the steerage." 
 
 He had a splendid boat-cloak hanging upon his 
 arm, — very much too ornate, as Harry thought, 
 for salt-water splashing. 
 
 " Here, Reynolds, fetch Master Harry that 
 cloak of mine with the sable collar, which lies in 
 my dressing-room."
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 91 
 
 " Thank you, sir/' said his son; " your vest- 
 ments^ I am sorry to say, are miles too long for 
 me. I won't trouble you, Reynolds; — this will do 
 very well/^ 
 
 " Is all safely stored? — the pines_, the Perigord 
 pies, the ortolans, the truffles, — the Duchess will 
 like them — those grapes I sent for from London ! 
 and above all the materials for the Burgundy 
 cup — '' 
 
 In a fussy, hurried manner, 
 
 "Yes, sir, — yes, Mr. Wilmington, — everything," 
 said the accomplished Reynolds; " all has been 
 on board since eight o'clock. I thought it as well 
 to add a few bottles of Chablis — " 
 
 " Very well. Is there nothing else you can 
 think of, Reynolds ?" 
 
 " Nothing, Mr. Wilmington; — positively, no- 
 thing." 
 
 '^ Oh ! here comes my wood-nymph ; my, — my 
 young Diana! — my Caroline! Why, Carry, you 
 really surpass yourself. I never saw such a girl. 
 Well, that black cloak and straw hat are infinitely 
 becoming, I must own; but there are such dresses 
 going on board 1 Mrs. Emerson, for instance.
 
 92 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 — her bonnet is just from Paris, and her veil 
 new from Brussells, arrived yesterday: — and such 
 a dress ! I am afraid^ child, you will look very 
 meanly among them all: but you are so hand- 
 some, there's no saying. Yet, I think Mrs. Wil- 
 mington's lace veil, — the one I gave her the other 
 day—'' 
 
 " Oh, positively no, papa, — I'm at home upon 
 your yacht; — pray let me be as I am. I could 
 not have a fine veil — and that is such a beauty — 
 flying about my head, flapping like a sea-bird. 
 Oh! let us be gone. It is a most charming
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 93 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Like a thing of spirit-birth, 
 Floating on our surface-earth! 
 
 T. E. Reade. 
 
 It was as she said. 
 
 The heavens, one pure blue expanse, above — the 
 sea, clear and bright as emerald, beneath — heaving 
 in gentle waves under the influence of a light 
 refreshing breeze which sparkled as they rose and 
 fell in the gleaming sun, and broke in low mur- 
 murs upon the sand. 
 
 Several small boats were dancing upon the 
 water near a few rocks, which, covered with black 
 tufts of sea- tang, their little caves fringed with
 
 94 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 scarlet and yellow sea anemones, broke into the 
 from the shore. 
 
 A very gay — not to say very smart — party was 
 gathered together upon the beach, waiting for the 
 Duchess, who had not yet arrived. There were 
 bonnets — pink, white, and blue — flowers and veils, 
 delicate shawls, and elegant cloaks, and parasols 
 of the softest colours in abundance ; and though 
 it might be very true that such delicate things 
 and such gay colours were rather out of place in a 
 yachting party, I am ashamed to say for myself, 
 that as I stood by, watching the gay throng, 
 though I thought Caroline looked charming in 
 her simple attire, I could not regret that the 
 crowd were not of her taste. It looked so bright, 
 so pretty as it was, and set off my favourite to the 
 more advantage. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington, towering among the rest with 
 his fine figure and showy address, was to be seen 
 here, there, and everywhere, as if he multiplied 
 himself in his anxiety to do the honours of his 
 party. 
 
 I thought there was something almost amiable 
 in this endeavour to please, and to have every
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 9S 
 
 body pleased ; and yet it was impossible not to 
 detect a sort of latent vulgarity of soul that trans- 
 pired through all the exterior graces of this singu- 
 larly fine and handsome man. I turned away 
 from him, and looked to his son. 
 
 Harry was standing near the boats — not inac- 
 tive, though quiet. He was attending to the 
 accommodation prepared for those who were to 
 go in the smaller boats ; not in the one so osten- 
 tatiously arrayed to receive the Duchess and her 
 party, where places could not be for every one. 
 
 He said little, and certainly had not the slightest 
 appearance of fuss or hurry; but he gave his orders 
 briefly and distinctly, and I observed that they 
 were promptly attended to. 
 
 Presently the sound of carriage wheels was 
 heard ; and I saw him hastily lift up his head — 
 look round — change colour — and then turn to the 
 water again. 
 
 The carriage was a coach ; and I could see con- 
 tained two ladies upon the back seat, a gentleman, 
 extended at full length, occupying the front one. 
 
 The lady in the farther comer was very old, 
 and all muffled up in silks and fine laces, with a
 
 96 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 close white satin bonnet, just as I love to see old 
 age. I love to see this modesty of old age — this 
 wrapping up of the frail relics of what once was 
 grace and beauty — those grey hairs braided over 
 the brow — this calm submission to the inevitable 
 doom which condemns the fairest to wrinkles and 
 decay. It is very beautiful, holy, and touching. 
 More still, do I love to contemplate the calm, 
 gentle composure — the reverence and the wisdom 
 of many years — tbe tranquil softness of past 
 sorrows — the print of a life whose every accident 
 has left some fresh touch of excellence behind it. 
 
 And such was the Duchess. I wish I could by 
 words do justice to the impression she made upon 
 me. 
 
 But what words shall I use to paint the fair 
 young creature at her side ? 
 
 A small beautiful fairy she was. It is a hack- 
 neyed expression, but she literally seemed a fairy. 
 Her figure vras the most perfectly and exquisitely 
 proportioned that it was possible for poet to 
 have imagined, or sculptor called into existence. 
 This excessive beauty of form, I suppose, it was, 
 that gave such charm to even the slightest motion.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 97 
 
 She was the picture of health; and the elastic 
 footstep seemed almost too light to touch the 
 earth. Then the face, which I now saw looking 
 impatiently out of the window ! What a sweet> 
 radiant, blooming face it was ! Such a lovely, 
 gay, rosy colour — yet so delicately rosy ! Eyes so 
 bright — so sweet — so inexpressibly charming! A 
 smile, that it was like paradise to gaze upon — 
 such an ineffable air of kindness, truth, affection- 
 ateness, goodness. You will think I am in danger 
 of doting, like the poor fellow who stood, his eyes 
 fixed upon the water, his heart fluttering with 
 varying feelings. But I am an old man ; it is my 
 privilege now to admire, to dote, to adore, without 
 being troubled with those hopes and fears, of 
 which in my youth I had my share as well as 
 other young people. I could gaze without danger 
 upon this sweet being, as one of the handsomest 
 young fellows I ever saw, springing up from his 
 recum^bent posture as the coach stopped, jumped 
 from the carriage, and handed her out: having 
 done so, he was going to put her arm under his, 
 and walk away towards the boats; but she stopped, 
 and saying, " Grandmamma V' turned to the car- 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 riage, and most carefully assisted the old lady to 
 descend ; which she did with some difficulty, aided 
 by her servants, and now, indeed^ by Lord George, 
 for he it was. 
 
 Having performed this duty, he again wanted 
 to appropriate Flavia to himself, and leave the 
 Duchess to the care of her people; but tlie young 
 creature did not seem to understand it in that 
 way at all; I saw her shake him off and give her 
 little arm to her grandmother, looking up at him 
 as she did so with a pretty, wicked smile, when 
 she saw he looked cross and disappointed, as much 
 as to say, " No, no, don^t think of such a thing ; 
 grandmamma before all.'^ But they were instantly 
 joined by Mr. Wilmington, who, hurrying to the 
 Duchess, offered his arm with the most officious 
 politeness. Lord George then made another 
 effort to appropriate Flavia, but she seemed to 
 prefer being left at liberty, and sprang forwards 
 to meet Caroline who was approaching, and with 
 whom a joyful greeting was exchanged. Harry now 
 came up, and in a shy and awkward manner, 
 which gave a great coldness to his air, responded 
 to the young lady^s friendly greeting.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 39 
 
 I saw all this little scene as there I stood — saw 
 Lord George glance at Harry, measure him from 
 head to foot with a sarcastic air of satisfaction ; 
 Harry glance at Lord George^ and instantly turn 
 away and busy himself with the boats. Flavia 
 meantime took Caroline's arm^ gaily laughing and 
 talking, and tripped down to the water. 
 
 The boat prepared for the royal party, I was 
 going to say — the Duchess was almost respected 
 as such in this circle — was soon filled ; she was 
 placed in the comfortable seat prepared for her — 
 Lord George, and Flavia, and Caroline of course 
 with her ; Mr. Wilmington, with a good deal of 
 fuss, succeeded in getting most of those on board 
 whom he had selected for this honour; among 
 •whom presently appeared the elegant Mrs. Emer- 
 son and her beautiful daughter, Lizzy. Harry 
 was not of the happy few ; his father left him to 
 take care of the remainder and less distinguished 
 members of the party — a subordinate place for 
 which he deemed his ungraceful son exactly fitted; 
 and so indeed he wac, if the kindest attention to 
 the comforts of every one, especially of the more 
 obscure, could fit a man for such an office. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 There was some little delay in the starting, 
 during which Lord George, seated between Flavia 
 and the Duchess, and in the highest possible 
 spirits, was full of fun, really good fun — and did 
 his best to amuse her. She laughed, looking over 
 the side of the boat towards the land, where the 
 remnant of the party was embarking under Harry^s 
 directions ; among whom there were certainly 
 some rather droll figures, who aiforded subject 
 matter sufficient for the wicked wit. His wit 
 was upon the whole inoffensive and fair enough ; 
 but sometimes it was seasoned with a little more 
 illnature than some persons would have approved; 
 and always tinctured with a certain arrogance, 
 when he found himself in a society of the present 
 description. 
 
 Caroline was sometimes amused, often inclined 
 to be angry. Flavia laughed. How" can she laugh 
 so at everything Lord George says — foolish or 
 not? thought Caroline. She did not perceive that 
 Flavia was at that moment laughing by rote, as 
 one might say — laughing without even hearing 
 what Lord George said, from mere absence of 
 mind. She was watching the other boats.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 101 
 
 She saw an elderly lady, dressed in a widow's 
 dress, and a very plain, delicate-looking girl, stand- 
 ing humbly on one side, whilst every one else was 
 pressing forward and getting themselves good 
 places. 
 
 Harry was standing there, helping people into 
 the boat; and she watched these two, pushed and 
 shuffled aside by the bustling throng. Then she 
 saw him speak to one of the sailors, and jump 
 over the side of the boat, leaving the man to take 
 his place — go up to this poorly-dressed widow and 
 this plain, fee]:)le-looking girl — exchange some kind 
 greetings — very cordial indeed they appeared to 
 her — and then, offering an arm to each, attend 
 them to the water's edge ; he then helped them in, 
 placed them in a convenient place — to do which 
 he was forced to derange some very gaily-dressed 
 young men, who looked contemptuously at the 
 intruders — then he wrapped the young lady in his 
 own boat-cloak, and giving the signal, the boats 
 started, and he placed himself by her side. 
 
 " Who's that?" said Flavia to Caroline. 
 
 '^ Who ? where ? whom do you mean :" 
 
 ^^ Do you see the boat your brother is in ? the
 
 102 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 last of them. Oh^ you can^t see it now — never 
 mind/' 
 
 And now they are all upon the deck, where a 
 white awning is stretched to shelter them from 
 the sun, gaily decked out and perfumed with 
 exotic flowers, or flowers forced to blow before 
 their time. Moss-roses and lilacs in abundance, 
 and beautiful heaths and lilies, &c., &c. If the 
 vessel should roll much it is to be feared these 
 beautiful things will tumble about ; but it will not 
 roll upon such a day. 
 
 The cabin of this yacht is the most richly orna- 
 mented thing you ever saw. Pannelled with glass, 
 and china, on which last bouquets of flowers are 
 painted, — and no gilding spared, you may be sure 
 of that. And there is gilding upon the head, as if 
 it were a barge for my Lord Mayor ; and upon 
 the railings, — here, and there, and everywhere. 
 Too much of it for my taste, even though I am 
 rather fond of the bright and fine. Sadly too
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. l63 
 
 much for Harry's, which wanted the vulgarity of 
 mine. 
 
 However, it looks excessively gay w'ith all those 
 pretty women upon it; and there are, as usual 
 upon such occasions, a few happy and gratified, 
 and a great many neither gratified nor happy. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson is among the first. Mr. Wil- 
 mington has introduced this very fine lady to the 
 good old Duchess, and she is sitting by her, and 
 has the supreme felicity and privilege of enter- 
 taining her; and her daughter, the beautiful 
 Lizzy, is advanced to honours also, and sits by 
 Flavia, whom she has known at school, and has, 
 moreover, the delight and distinction of being 
 often addressed by Lord George himself. Indeed, 
 he seems to take great notice of her ; talks to her, 
 and directs his best jokes to her; and at last, oh 
 triumph ! actually gets up from his place between 
 Flavia and the Duchess, and takes possession of 
 the one just vacated by Caroline at Miss Emer- 
 son's side. 
 
 And how he flirted when there, — and the plea- 
 sure he took in making this beautiful young girl 
 beheve in the sudden admiration with which she
 
 104 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 had inspired him ; — and the way in which she laid 
 herself open to this impertinent flattery, was a 
 very contemptihle but a very ordinary picture of 
 what happens between fashionable young lord- 
 lings and very handsome young ladies — not aris- 
 tocratic or in society. That is when beauty atones 
 for the moment for their other shortcomings, and 
 makes them objects deserving of this insolent sort 
 of homage, — of the full impertinence of which it 
 would be very well for them to be thoroughly 
 aware. 
 
 Flavia coloured, and looked vexed, offended, 
 and peevish; all which doubled Lord George's 
 enjoyment. Every now and then he cast a glance 
 at her from his handsome saucy eyes, as much as> 
 to say, '^ Now, really, is it possible ? Can you 
 for a moment ?^^ And, gratified to the extreme 
 with what he took for jealousy, he was in higher 
 and more exuberant spirits than ever. 
 
 When the time for the collation came, he 
 started up to look for Caroline, and offered his 
 other arm to Miss Emerson, with a glance of 
 high enjoyment to see how Flavia would like 
 it.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 105 
 
 Her pretty lip had a curious expression. There 
 was a something contemptuous, which he w^ould 
 not quite have Uked, had it not evidently been 
 the result of ill humour. 
 
 But Miss Emerson fluttered, and chatted, 
 and looked really splendidly handsome thus ani- 
 mated, and he turned away and found Caroline, 
 and took her down, and Flavia was left standing 
 there. Mr. Wilmington had attended the 
 Duchess and provided for Mrs. Emerson, con- 
 cluding, of course, that Flavia would be the 
 charge of Lord George. 
 
 She looked round. Harry was at a little dis- 
 tance, about to offer his arm, as it would seem, to 
 the poor widow ; but he glanced that way, saw Miss 
 
 L standing there alone, turned to Selwyn, who 
 
 stood by, begged him to take care of Mrs. Free- 
 man, and was at her side, and with his arm 
 offered, in a moment. He changed colour several 
 times as she took it, and stammered and looked 
 very shy, — but oh, so happy! It was really 
 beautiful to see what expression could do for that 
 countenance. They went down together, she 
 talking to him ; but in a low subdued voice, and
 
 106 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 not with her usual gaiety ; — and I turned to look 
 at Selwyn. 
 
 He was a very interesting-looking person, very 
 gentleman-like in his appearance, being pale, but 
 with a particularly refined cast of countenance, 
 evidently suffering from ill-health. He was now, 
 as I understood, at Oxford. His manners were, 
 I thought, particularly pleasing, as he assisted 
 this lady and her daughter to the cabin. I think 
 I was, upon the whole, more struck with him than 
 with any one; but he was so extremely silent, and 
 seemed so languid and unwell, that he took 
 scarcely any part in the business of the day. 
 
 ^^ And I wanted to ask you who she was that 
 you took such especial care of, Mr. Henry Wilming- 
 ton, as the company were getting into the boats }'' 
 
 " Who ? I don't remember.'' 
 
 " Don't you ? but I watched all your proceed- 
 ings, and I remember quite well. A very pale 
 girl, looking too sickly for these sort of affairs ; — I 
 wonder what she came for. She cannot enjoy 
 such scenes — impossible — except, indeed " 
 
 " Oh, I know who you mean now — Mrs. Free- 
 man and her daughter — Poor thing ! enjoy them 1
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 10? 
 
 No, I am afraid she cannot ; but she comes to 
 please her mother, I beUeve. It is her mother's 
 idea that her deep melancholy may be in some 
 little degree dissipated by such pictures of life — 
 for those things are but as pictures to her — and 
 that the fine air and sailing upon such a day, may 
 do good. I doubt it myself/' 
 
 '^ And is there nothing else here ?" said Flavia, 
 a little sarcastically. 
 
 My pretty Flavia, do not be so mean. Do 
 not grudge a cast-ofF lover to the poor girl. It 
 is the poor man's lamb to her. I am afraid we 
 shall hate you if you do that. " Is there nothing 
 here to divert her melancholy, but pictures of life 
 and fresh air ? Nothing — Harry — nothing ?" look- 
 ing with meaning; " Take care of what you are 
 about." 
 
 ^' Of what I am about," said he, with simplicity, 
 not having the slightest idea of her meaning, so 
 far were such thoughts from him ; " What can you 
 mean ? — Poor thing !" 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Wilmington ! What is the cause of all 
 this melancholy on her part, I w^onder ?" 
 
 "Don't you know? — how should you? — Thatpoor
 
 108 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 womanjher mother, was wife to the captain of one of 
 my father's ships. He was a plain, rough fellow^ 
 as such men mostly are; but a worthy man, and 
 excellent commander of a vessel. The poor girFs 
 betrothed sailed with him as mate. It was to be 
 his last voyage, poor lad! and then he was to come 
 home and marry her. They were bound for New- 
 foundland. It's a long, dismal, but an heroic 
 story. The ship struck upon a sunken rock ; the 
 boats were got out ; all those on board saved ; but 
 these two insisted upon being the last to quit the 
 vessel. This good fellow and this brave boy ! He 
 was seconding his captain in his attempt to save 
 some provisions, and to rescue them all. They 
 were, with three more sailors, still upon the vessel, 
 when she gave way, went to pieces, and they all 
 perished." 
 
 " The poor man had a large venture on board, — 
 the poor lad his all engaged in that venture. They 
 left these two women beggars and friendless, for 
 they had not a relation in the world. The widow 
 bore up, and will fight it out ; — the girl will go at 
 last. She, is a common place good-hearted 
 woman, just a proper wife for her rough honest
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 109 
 
 husband ; but the two young ones were different ; 
 — I don't know how it was, but there was a deli- 
 cacy and sensibility about her, that one would 
 wonder how she came by; and he was a fine 
 noble-hearted fellow — poor lad !'' 
 
 Flavians glistening eyes were bent upon Harry's 
 face, as with an expression and tone of the deepest 
 feeling he told this little story. He was not, and 
 could not be in the least aware of the interest these 
 moments of deep feeling gave to his countenance. 
 She gazed — was silent — dropped her eyes, mused, 
 and stood there thoughtfully. 
 
 *^ Will you not sit down ? — Will you not take 
 something V 
 
 She started as from a brief trance. 
 
 '' No, I thank you Tell me what is 
 
 become of them ?'' ^^ Why, they are here. My 
 father is a generous man: he would not leave 
 the widow and daughter of a meritorious ser- 
 vant exposed to pecuniary distress; — he allows 
 them a pension — but sickness is expensive — 
 such allowances necessarily cannot be very 
 large. They are not rich, and among all these 
 fine people look poor — poorer than in fact
 
 110 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 they are. I almost wonder the mother likes to 
 come into such scenes ; but so it is/^ 
 
 ^^ And when in such scenes, they are exposed to 
 be neglected and shuffled about ; — that is always 
 the case ; ^ why let the stricken deer go weep/ is 
 the maxim of the world. What business have 
 they to parade their crape and their pale faces 
 among us ? think they. I saw it as I sat watching 
 what was going on." 
 
 ''- Yes, I suppose it must be so. People don^t 
 come to these sort of places to exercise the cha- 
 rities of life. It can hardly be expected — -and 
 this is ^vhy I wish the poor woman would stay 
 away, for she is one of those who feel such things 
 very much. These sort of common-place minds 
 are peculiarly susceptible of such little morti- 
 fications ; — over the poor girl they glide as a rain- 
 drop over the polished surface of a leaf. Grief 
 elevates and ennobles the mind." 
 
 " I don't think there are many minds capable 
 of grief," was Flavians answer. " People seem to 
 me to hate grief, and to fly from serious thought 
 as the bane of existence. I don't like that — it is 
 so dull to be always laughing."
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. Ill 
 
 " Can you think so Y' 
 
 " You will never believe it, but I do. Per- 
 haps because I have so much of the one and 
 none of the other — I scarcely know what sorrow 
 is." 
 
 ^^And long may that ignorance be yours !'^ he 
 muttered. Then he looked at her sweet face as 
 it was pensively bent towards the ground; and 
 then it was suddenly turned up to him, and she 
 
 "Would that girl dislike to be acquainted 
 with me ? — Make me acquainted with sorrow/' 
 
 He hesitated. 
 
 " Would she dislike it V said Flavia, a little 
 surprised, for she had been too much flattered 
 not to believe that the honour of an introduction 
 to her must be gratifying to any one. 
 
 " You would not understand each other. You 
 belong to distant spheres. If you were to talk 
 to her, you would find all your poetic imagination 
 vanish. Her mind and her heart are as I have 
 described them; but you would be disgusted with 
 her A's. A person may feel most tenderly and 
 most generously, yet put an h in the wrong place
 
 112 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 — but ^Yho could retain their interest in them on 
 finding it so ?^^ 
 
 ^' Ah, Mr. Wilmington ! can you be more sar- 
 castic than Lord George ? That speech is not like 
 you.^^ 
 
 "Why not? Is he, alone, to be privileged to 
 see things as they are }" 
 
 ^^ Do you think everybod37- would be, — do you 
 think," with a little hesitation, " I would be 
 guilty of such injustice and hard-heartedness?" 
 and she looked up at him again vrith those sweet, 
 kind, ingenuous eyes. 
 
 He smiled upon her tenderly and softly, and 
 said, — 
 
 "It would be difficult to believe it. Yes, I 
 dare say I am unjust — one ought not to attribute 
 one's own weaknesses to others — the effect of 
 fine manners, what I call really fine manners — 
 such as people of your class, such as the Duchess, 
 for instance, possesses, — is very great, much too 
 great, I fear, upon me. It is the supreme charm 
 — the first of beauties and graces in my eyes, 
 deficient as I feel myself to be in such graces ; I 
 am astonished at my own susceptibility upon this
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 113 
 
 matter — I am apt to fancy that what offends my 
 taste, who have so little right to be thus ofFended, 
 must doubly displease the taste of those habitu- 
 ated to a finer polish in things. Then I feel a 
 sympathy at the same time with those who do not 
 possess these advantages, — a selfish sympathy, I 
 fear. I cannot bear to see intrinsic worth ren- 
 dered repulsive, and perhaps ridiculous, by some 
 trifling defect in mere external and^ conventional 
 matters. T feel a reserve, a modesty, a pride for 
 my friends, which, after all,^^ said he, checking 
 himself in this long speech, and smiling, *^* I am 
 sure my good Mrs. Freeman, for one, would not 
 feel for herself; for to be introduced to the grand- 
 daughter of a duchess would form an era in her 
 life. She would never enter into such refinements 
 — and as for the poor girl — I told you, life is 
 become but a dream to her ; yet it might afford 
 a fleeting pleasure to be made acquainted with — 
 one so gentle, delicate, and kind,^' — he meant to 
 say, but he stammered and hesitated, and did not 
 venture to say it. 
 
 She loved to hear him talk in this way. There 
 was something in his manner of thinking and 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 feeling that she liked very much. Though her- 
 self so merry and apparently volatile^ she was 
 very fond of what she called conversation — ■- 
 serious talk upon serious subjects. She had an 
 odd taste — she really liked it better than the 
 brilliant nonsense which is the charm of mixed 
 society to most people. 
 
 ^^But you have had nothing— how stupid I 
 am V said he, recollecting himself. '^ An ice ? 
 some fruit ?^^ 
 
 ^^ An ice, if you please.^^ 
 
 As she stood with it in her hand she began 
 again, 
 
 " So you will not introduce me to that poor 
 girl? — you will not make me acquainted with 
 sorrow." 
 
 ^^ God forbid 1" said he, with a something she 
 thought charmingly tender in his look and 
 voice ; then again checking himself, — ^' I have 
 changed my mind — I will do you that honour T 
 
 And she still hanging upon his arm, he ap- 
 proached the little side-table at which the widow 
 and her daughter were sitting, and saying, '^ Mrs. 
 Freeman, Miss L , — you have heard of Miss
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 115 
 
 L., — begs to have the pleasure of being intro- 
 duced to you and to Miss Freeman/' made them 
 acquainted, and Flavia, taking a place between 
 the two ladies, began to talk to them. 
 
 He stood by watching her, and listening, and 
 I watched him. I thought I never saw so much 
 tender admiration expressed by a countenance 
 before. He seemed lost in a not unpleasing 
 train of thought ; but his father's voice was heard 
 calling for him, and he started and moved hastily 
 away. 
 
 He left Flavia with the talkative Mrs. Free- 
 man, who, as people of her stamp often do, 
 began very soon to speak of her own affairs, 
 whilst the daughter, melancholy and depressed, 
 said little or nothing. The good woman enlarged 
 upon that on which alone she could discourse 
 with much interest, herself and her daughter, 
 and their prospects and concerns. Flavia en- 
 couraged this ready openness of communication. 
 
 I 2
 
 116 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 She wanted to make herself acquainted with the 
 feelings and tempers of those who had gone 
 through such unexampled suffering. She thought, 
 in spite of all Harry had said, that there must 
 necessarily be something approaching to the great 
 — something deeply interesting about those who 
 had gone through so much — but, in this instance, 
 as in many others of the kind, there was not. 
 There was nothing to excite admiration of any 
 sort — there was nothing to raise the imagination 
 in any way. The afflictions, the misfortunes had 
 been great;, singular, deeply aifecting; — the story 
 was simple, grand, beautiful, — the woman was 
 common-place. 
 
 Young people should be made well aware of 
 this. They must learn to pity, to love, to be 
 interested, in those who in themselves are neither 
 very loveable, nor at all interesting, if they in- 
 tend to play the kind, the Christian part. 
 
 As Flavia talked, she felt the justice of what 
 Harry had said; she found it very difficult to 
 tolerate the " orses" and the " Aonour'^ she was 
 doing her, but she recollected his remarks, with 
 the resolve to overcome her fastidious feelings.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. ll? 
 
 and she talked on kindly and pleasantly. As to 
 the good jNIrs. Freeman, she felt very happy thus 
 to be noticed by so fine a young lady, and chatted on 
 more confidentially than ever. And Harry figured 
 in her history: and Flavia heard, how it was Harry 
 who had urged her claims for assistance upon his 
 father ; how Mr. Wilmington, who was good- 
 natured, but thoughtless, was apt to forget things 
 of this nature, regarding others as well as her- 
 self; how Harry never forget them. How much 
 good in secret he did; how moderate were his 
 own expenses, how simple his habits, how gener- 
 ous his deeds. How high his reputation stood 
 for wise and scrupulous honour in lousiness ; 
 how highly his abilities were rated by those 
 who knew him well ; how kind he had been to 
 her, in so many ways, besides the great essential 
 service he had rendered her by obtaining this 
 j3ension. 
 
 So talked the widow, and Flavia sat there and 
 listened ; till at last Lord George came to fetch 
 her away; wondering where she had hid herself 
 all this time. He made himself very merry with 
 the company in which he found her upon such an
 
 118 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 occasion, and wished her to come upon deck and 
 dance with him, and shake off all the cobwebs 
 that had been gathering round her in that corner. 
 The music was sounding gaily upon the deck ; 
 but to her someway it seemed discordant, — dis- 
 cordant as she had never heard it before. She, 
 however, consented to dance ; but soon felt tired, 
 and bade him let her sit down, and go and dance 
 with some one else. And so he did, and she sat 
 upon a bench by the railing, and looked down 
 upon the beautiful shining glassy waves, and over 
 the fine expansive prospect, and up to the blue 
 heavens, and the beaming sun ; and there were 
 thoughts that seemed more in harmony with those 
 things she loved so deeply, than those of Lord 
 George, the gay band, or the [polkas they were 
 playing.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 119 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I had a vision of reality ; 
 
 Such as doth grow upon the eyes of Mind 
 
 Intently fixed upon the past- the past, 
 
 The prophet of the future : shadowing 
 
 From deeds and thoughts of those who suffered here. 
 
 Lessons, and prescience of things to come. 
 
 T. E. Reade. — Revelations of Life. 
 
 This day was an eventful day to more than one 
 present at this little fete. 
 
 Such days^ vain and unprofitable as they may 
 seem to the moralist and the philosopher, are 
 those which often decide many a young creature^s 
 destiny. Unfortunate in this, the young girls, 
 under our present system, may unquestionably be 
 considered ; that what is so seriously, so deeply, 
 so really, so infinitely, we may almost add, eter- 
 nally, important to their happiness, should appa-
 
 120 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 rently depend upon the most trifling accidents of 
 society, — the being present or absent from such 
 a party^ — nay^ the being engaged or disengaged 
 from such a dance. Men, in this object of mar- 
 riage, appear to suffer themselves to be the sport 
 of such insignificant circumstances. Few of them 
 have the determination to make a choice, or the 
 perseverance to adhere to that choice, and follow 
 it up through the little difficulties and obstruc- 
 tions of social life. Most often they suffer them- 
 selves to be literally guided ])y Fate, and to accept 
 with a sort of passive indifference the lot she puts 
 into their hand. But, independently of this, there 
 can be no doubt that apparently accidental cir- 
 cumstances exercise a very great effect upon the 
 feelings themselves ; and the birth of the most 
 powerful sentiment which animates the human 
 heart may be traced to some fortuitous moment 
 whose influence colours the whole of the rest of 
 life. The accident of Lord George choosing to 
 flirt with that handsome and silly, and, in his 
 opinion, vulgar Miss Emerson, for whom he did 
 not care one sixpence, left Flavia at liberty to 
 receive impressions which he found it difficult 
 afterwards to efface.
 
 THE WILMIXGTONS. 121 
 
 She had kept up a sort of acquaintance with 
 Harry Wihuington, it is truc^ by occasionally 
 meeting him when she paid a visit to her friend 
 Caroline, but he was so shy and distant, said so 
 little in the drawing-room when he did come in, 
 appeared to so little advantage in his own family, 
 and before his father especially, that the interest 
 she had taken in him as a boy had mostly died 
 away, and she had thought httle of him or about 
 him. But this day the beauty of the scene, a species 
 of beauty which always excited in Flavia a certain 
 feeling of exaltation, — a sort of moral longing 
 after the pure and excellent in the moral world, of 
 which the blue expanse above, the clear crystal of 
 the wave beneath, and all the glories of exter- 
 nal nature, are but a type, — had raised the tone 
 of her thoughts, and set her, as they often did, 
 longing. 
 
 She loved, she liked, she admired Lord George ; 
 she thought she loved him very much ; yet in 
 these higher moments she felt dissatisfied with 
 him. There was a seriousness, an earnestness, a 
 desire to penetrate behind this bright veil of ex- 
 ternal things which surrounded her, and reach to
 
 122 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 the truth of life, its purposes, and its end, which 
 was very strong with her; and of which he could 
 not form the slightest comprehension. 
 
 They were separated — as the labourers upon 
 that Eastern tower were separated — by the impos- 
 sibility of understandinsf each other. Their souls 
 
 » o 
 
 spoke two different languages. She loved him too 
 well not to lament and grieve that he could not 
 understand her better; to find herself, as she so 
 often did, utterly solitary and alone with her lover 
 close by her side. But these feelings would, after 
 all, be only transitory; the evil hour as he called 
 it — she did not herself know what to call it — 
 though unhappy, it was so earnest, so full of truth 
 and depth — passed away. Smiles revisited her 
 sweet countenance; she laughed at his drollery; 
 accepted his gay devotion to herself with ap- 
 parent pleasure ; and could almost have asked, as 
 he felt often inchned to do, What could possibly 
 be wanting? 
 
 To-day, however, just at the very time when the 
 charming scene which surrounded her, the balmy 
 breeze as it fanned her cheek, the bright sun, the 
 rising and falling waves, the fluttering canvas
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 123 
 
 above the lulling motion of the vessel, — had all 
 conspired to raise these old feelings in her mind ; 
 she was left undisturbed to talk with Harry : to 
 listen to that voice so touching and melodious ; to 
 hear the simple, truthful accents from his lips ; to 
 observe his kindness and his goodness ; and to 
 sympathize with the tender melancholy, but deep 
 and sincere earnestness of his character. She felt 
 what it was to esteem and to approve. And when 
 Lord George, after having done his duty in the 
 dancing way, came and sat down by her, and 
 began to talk as usual, she missed something : his 
 conversation wanted interest, solidity; his voice, 
 the inexpressible charm of deep feeling. 
 
 She could not understand where all the charm 
 was gone, which she had once found so pre- 
 vailing. 
 
 He saw that she was graver than usual, and he 
 began to accuse her of it ; but he had not the re- 
 motest idea of its possible cause. To be jealous 
 of Harry Wilmington would have been too ridi- 
 culous. But he began to wish to attract her 
 attention again to himself; he never liked these 
 indifferent moods, in which she seemed occupied
 
 124 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 with feelings and thoughts he could not share ; 
 which he neither understood nor strove to under- 
 stand. 
 
 " How you sit there, Flavia, looking into the 
 water ! What can you see in it ? It is so strange 
 of you to take this sudden meditative humour 
 upon an occasion when, everybody ought to make 
 themselves gay, if they don^t feel so. What is the 
 matter with you, Flavia ?" 
 
 " I don^t know — nothing ; I was only thinking. 
 There is something in these sort of mixed parties 
 that makes one think. Do you know, George, 
 that I have been hearing a very sad story }" 
 
 " A sad story ! Pooh, nonsense ! Who could 
 be so stupid as to tell you sad stories just at such 
 a time as this ? Sad stories ! — as if there were not 
 plenty of sad stories going about in the world, and 
 sad things going on too ; but who can help it, and 
 what's the use of thinking about them ? I wonder 
 who the malencontreux fdcheux could be who 
 filled your pretty head with sad stories — and to- 
 day of all days." 
 
 '^ It was my own fault ; I asked for the story, 
 and it set me on thinking.''
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 125 
 
 " On thinking ! I wish you never would be set 
 on thinking, as you call it ; you can't think what 
 an odd effect it has upon your face, Flavia, when 
 you set on thinking, as you call it. I wonder 
 what women have to do with thinking — pretty 
 women especially. The prettiest — even you — 
 can't stand a studying expression. I declare, as 
 you sat there leaning over the water in a brown 
 study just now, I could hardly believe it was you ; 
 you looked so ugly." 
 
 She took no notice of this speech, except turn- 
 ing a little away from him, and sighing so slightly 
 that it was almost imperceptible. 
 
 " Come now, Flavia," he went on, " don't be 
 so tiresome ; don't sit there in that stupid, unso- 
 ciable manner. I declare" — sitting down by her 
 and speaking in a most afFectionate way — "you 
 don't know how I am longing for a little fun and 
 chat. That creature —that Miss Emerson— I'm 
 perfectly sick of telling all sorts of lies and non- 
 sense to her. I want a little rational nonsense 
 with you, my darling Flavia, to refresh my 
 spirits." 
 
 *' You are very reasonable in your expectations,
 
 126 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 I must say. You exhaust your spirits and wear 
 yourself to death with paying attentions to a young 
 lady, because she^s excessively handsome ; and 
 then, when you are tired, you come and waste 
 your tediousness upon me.'' 
 
 " Oh, we are vexed, are we?^^ said he, smiling, 
 and looking very engaging — as he hoped and 
 believed, at least. ^^ Sweetest of all possible 
 Flavias, can you do your poor slave so much 
 honour as to be jealous ?^^ 
 
 " No,^^ said she, " I am not jealous, because I 
 know you don^t care for Miss Emerson the least 
 bit in the world; and besides, I am not quite 
 sure whether I should care the least bit in the 
 world if you did." 
 
 " Provoking girl! how can you say so? Besides, 
 I am sure it's not true,^^ said he, with the fami- 
 liarity of cousinhood and long acquaintance which 
 gave a singular ease to their relations. '^'^Now 
 own it^s not true, — there's a good girl, — own you 
 were a little — little tiny bit vexed and out of 
 humour, and inclined to be moody, and look for 
 fishes in the water." 
 
 " Not in the least, upon my word. Ah ! if you 
 knew.^^
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 12? 
 
 '' If I knew what V 
 
 She lifted up her face, and looked at him. 
 
 « If I knew what ?^' 
 
 ^^ How far — far away — ray thoughts at that 
 moment were; I really don^t know whether you 
 would feel particularly flattered, George.'^ 
 
 ^^ Why, I don't suppose, seriously speaking, 
 that you cannot think of other things besides my 
 unlucky self; though I don't take my revenge; I 
 think of nothing but you, or with reference to 
 you/' 
 
 '^ George," she said, turning quite round to- 
 wards him, '• one thing I think I ought to think 
 of — letting you make me so many foolish speeches; 
 I wish you would leave off this trick you have of 
 for ever flattering me. I don't like it, indeed I 
 don't, at all." 
 
 He laughed. 
 
 " I wish you would not always laugh when I 
 speak seriously," said Flavia. 
 
 ^•' Why, what else can I do ? That little wise 
 way that you put on has such a ridiculous effect 
 upon your queen of the fairy face. I hate to see 
 you serious, — and you ought not to be angry
 
 128 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 with me if I am vexed when these fits come over 
 you, for you never seem to care a rush for me at 
 sucii times,— and I think you do care a little, 
 little tiny, wee bit for me at others. Don't you, 
 Flavia?" 
 
 " Yes, I like you very w^ell as a cousin^^ said 
 she, laying an emphasis upon the word, ^' but I 
 think it is very silly to talk so much about our 
 feelings. All relations ought to love and like 
 each other, if they can, — but the less they 
 talk about likes and dislikes, so much the 
 better.'' 
 
 '^ Keigh-day!'' said he, and then he laughed 
 again, and said he had changed his mind, and 
 that her demure little wise ways were ineffably 
 enchanting to him; and after this sort of half- 
 joking, half-serious admiration, which expres- 
 sion teased her, but which she did not know 
 exactly how to meet, he rose and went away, and 
 joined Selwyn, who was standing talking with 
 Caroline at the other end of the little vessel. 
 
 I had been observing that couple with con- 
 siderable interest. I told you that I thought 
 I had never seen a more feeling and expres-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 129 
 
 sive countenance than that of Sehvyn, — it was 
 sickly and very pale^ and his air was marked 
 with extreme languor. He formed a strong and 
 painful contrast to the fine, vigorous, spirited girl 
 who stood beside him, talking to him in a pleasant, 
 animated manner. Harry was of the party. It 
 was easy for any one to observe, when he and 
 Selwyn were together, how great a pleasure they 
 took in each other^s society. They seemed to be 
 united by the strongest ties of friendship, and so, 
 in truth, they were. 
 
 Harry loved Selwyn with his whole heart; 
 there was something particularly attractive to a 
 man of his disposition, in the very deUcacy of 
 •health which rendered Selwyn little acceptable to 
 most youths of his age. Harry was by nature 
 little incUned or fitted to take a share in the 
 stirring amusements common to young men. He 
 was neither a hunter, nor a cricketer^ nor a 
 boater. And Selwyn was, by the extreme delicacy 
 of his constitution, equally incapacitated. The 
 two boys, when at school, whilst the rest were 
 engaged in their noisy sports, might be seen 
 sauntering slowly together under the alders and 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 willows^ which fringed a rapid and glassy river 
 that ran by the play-ground. 
 
 The other boys would laugh at these two, who 
 lived by the river-side without ever thinking of 
 being fishermen ; took no delight in impaling a 
 miserable -worm, and were not dexterous enough 
 to cast a fly ; — but so long as they were together, 
 they heeded it not^ they had courage enough to 
 stand the laugh. 
 
 Selwyn, who had not the slightest tincture of 
 Harry^s shyness or awkward feelings in society, 
 appreciated to the full the superiority of his mind. 
 His bodily suff'erings made him in some respects 
 a physical coward. He required support ; he 
 wanted some one on whose judgment and strength 
 of mind he could rely w^hen his ow^n spirits were 
 trembling and his nerves failing. He found this 
 in Harry. He was capable of appreciating the rare 
 qualities of his friend, — his disinterested temper, 
 his simple heart, his excellent understanding, his 
 acute perception of things, his accurate observa- 
 tion of men, and his stores of general information, 
 all secretly acquired, as it were, dualities obscured 
 to the common eye by his external defects, but
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 131 
 
 which Selwyn felt as if he loved and valued the 
 more because he loved and valued them almost 
 alone. 
 
 There was another feeling that united Selwyn 
 to his friendj and that was the indignant sort of 
 pity he felt for the manner in which he was 
 treated by his father. It drove Selwyn half mad 
 to see the flashy and shallow man quite incapable 
 of even estimating the extent of his son^s faculties, 
 oppressing him by the kind of contemptuous in- 
 dulgence with which he treated him, as a poor, 
 well-meaning fellow, whom he loved for his good 
 nature, but whom it was vain to expect would ever 
 make that figure in the world which was aspired 
 to by his all-accomplished self. 
 
 There was something in the way Harry sub- 
 mitted to this; the piety with which, apparently 
 blind to his father's faults, he yielded to this as- 
 sumed superiority, and suffered himself to sink 
 into insignificance by his side, which angered 
 Selwyn, whilst it made him ready to adore that 
 perfect absence of all selfish vanity or ambition — 
 that childlike freedom from guile — which blinded 
 a man of an understanding so excellent as that 
 
 K 2
 
 132 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 of his friend to the defects of his father's 
 character. 
 
 Whether it was the effect of those early childish 
 impressions which his mother had so sedulously 
 imprinted ; whether it was that the boy was really 
 dazzled by his father's brilliant appearance; whether 
 it arose from that humility which seemed innate 
 in him, or that it was the mere consequence of 
 possessing a truly affectionate heart, Selwyn saw 
 that Harry loved his father with a tenderness and 
 piety which few sons are found to bestow upon 
 fathers far more worthy. 
 
 But I have wandered from the group. I linger 
 and loiter as I go along, and seem to dislike to 
 proceed with the history I have undertaken. I, 
 gifted with the prescience of the prophet, knowing 
 the tale that lies before me, sigh, cast down, 
 hesitate, and resume my pen. 
 
 Selwyn loved Harry, but he adored Caroline. 
 That peculiar temper of his, resulting from his 
 physical delicacy, that disposition at once so feeble 
 and so strong, found every feeling excited and 
 satisfied near her. Her strength of character, her 
 force and energy, were a support to his spirits and
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 133 
 
 nerves, and yet in harmony with what he would 
 himself have been had he been blest with such a 
 hale^ strong, instrument of life — if I may so call 
 it — as hers was. 
 
 Her simple, straightforward, generous character, 
 was in accordance with all his fine moral taste 
 could desire or imagine of best ; and her love and 
 devotion for her brother, her deep sense of his 
 qualities, her feehng for his position, were sym- 
 pathetic with his own. 
 
 Selwyn loved Caroline devotedly; but he had 
 never, even in moments of the most boyish unre- 
 serve, hinted his attachment to her. He thought 
 himself one who would probably never live to be- 
 come a man or take a part in life. He did not 
 expect to live to share in the happiness of youth ; 
 his anticipations were but of an early grave. He 
 never thought of endeavouring to secure future 
 bliss ; he was content to float along with the 
 present. Caroline was his friend, — his at- 
 tached and most affectionate friend ; he looked 
 as yet no farther. And she was so devoted 
 to her brother, that there seemed room in her 
 heart for no other attachment. She loved Sel-
 
 134 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 wyn on her side, but it was less than she loved 
 Harry. 
 
 And now she and Selwyn are there standing 
 talking together, and I am looking at them in my 
 quiet old man^s way, and watching them in their 
 several parts,^ — if I may use the term. And 
 now Lord George joins them, and begins to talk 
 in his lively manner to Carohne, and Selwyn, 
 who cannot banter, stands by and smiles and 
 looks amused ; and Harry turns away and looks 
 to the other end of the vessel, and takes a few 
 steps that way, and stops as if irresolute, and 
 then two beautiful eyes are raised from watching 
 the waves, and turned to him, and he is at Flavians 
 side. 
 
 And he stayed by her, longing to talk with her 
 again, and finding it impossible to know how to 
 begin, or what to say. 
 
 She evidently wished to have some more talk 
 with him. They both felt very shy, but at last 
 the ice was broken by Harry saying, — 
 
 " You left two people very much delighted with 
 
 your condescension, Miss L , this morning, 
 
 — poor Mrs. Freeman and her daughter.^^
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 135 
 
 "Condescension! What a word! That^s not 
 like you, for it^s not quite sincere. I am glad — 
 no, I should say sorry — that they should feel in 
 the least in that way ; for I still think that a 
 history such as theirs lifts people far above poor 
 little things like me, who have no history at all/^ 
 
 He sat down by her. 
 
 " Did you keep that feehng when you had 
 talked with them r^' he said, rather to keep the 
 conversation he so delighted in going, than from 
 the interest of the subject . to him, — for I am 
 ashamed to say he cared very little about it. 
 
 " 1 am ashamed to own it,^^ she answered ; 
 "don^t make me say anything about good Mrs. 
 Freeman. You knew me better than I did 
 myself; but I think the daughter is interesting.^' 
 
 " Then you were very good ; for you had the 
 kindness to talk to Mrs. Freeman a long time; 
 and the politeness to appear very much interested 
 in what she was saying.^^ 
 
 Flavia coloured a little. 
 
 He thought he never saw anything so beautiful 
 as that sweet blush, but he little understood its 
 meaning. He would have been indeed a happy
 
 136 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 man had the slightest idea of its cause crossed 
 his mind. 
 
 " I beg your pardon/' said he, with simphcity ; 
 "I did not mean to accuse you of insincerity, 
 because I said I thought you so polite. We are 
 not bound to yawn in people's faces, you know." 
 
 " I did not know that I appeared particularly 
 interested in what she was saying; and yet I 
 believe I was," said she, and her eyes were lifted 
 Up and withdrawn ; " she told me a beautiful 
 history." 
 
 "Did she venture at such a moment upon her 
 own ?" 
 
 ^^ Partly — yes ; she is a person, I fancy, who 
 has little but her own affairs to talk about." 
 
 " Some part of her history is certainly beau- 
 tiful." 
 
 " In that I quite agree with you." 
 
 And then she rose, and they joined the others, 
 and this apparently insignificant conversation 
 ended. 
 
 But there was a something — an indescribable 
 something that remained to haunt the memories 
 of both.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 137 
 
 Harry was more in love than ever with this 
 fairest creature. 
 
 She thought very much more about him than 
 she had ever done in her life ; and began to won- 
 der whether she ought to allow Lord George's 
 flattering speeches to be continued ; — whether 
 that language which had been his from quite early 
 boyhood^ and to which she had grown so well 
 accustomed that she thought little about it, ought 
 not to be checked. She could scarcely believe that 
 there was anything very serious in a passion 
 which so lightly expressed itself in words. She 
 already felt that such accents are not those of true 
 love, — not the form in which serious attach- 
 ment finds expression. 
 
 She could not help feeling that there was 
 something in Henry's eyes, — something in the 
 tone of his voice, — that hinted at sentiments far 
 diflferent, — far more serious, — far more interesting. 
 
 At all events, the mystery, the doubt, that hung 
 around that character; the reserve, the shyness 
 even, the very embarrassmeif:, which seemed as a 
 veil to obscure his qualities, exercised a strange 
 fascination over her.
 
 138 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 She was not romantic, though Lord George 
 called her so 5 and many, could they have known 
 all that passed in her mind, might have thought 
 her so too. It was not an imaginary life of ex- 
 citement and rapture that she dreamed of or 
 longed for ; — it was real earnest life, — a life of 
 strong affections, strenuous efforts, — of duties 
 even, though painful, of which she dreamed. 
 
 And what was the life she led ? 
 
 One of the most perfect ease and enjoyment : 
 caressed and flattered by all who surrounded her, 
 and truly beloved by all whom she loved. And 
 in the wise and kind grandmother, under whose 
 protection she lived, possessing what is the crown 
 of youthful life, — a real, loving, partial, devoted 
 friend and guardian, one on whose wisdom she 
 couldrely for guidance, on whose tenderness for 
 sympathy, on whose protection for safety. 
 
 The world never presented a fairer prospect 
 than that of the life before her ; — the world never 
 possessed a sweeter home than that in which she 
 harboured. 
 
 There were but few things wanting, — difficulty, 
 which calls forth energy; — contradiction, which
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 139 
 
 exercises temper ; — sorrow, which exalts faith ; — 
 death, which teaches truth. 
 
 These conditions of our best existence; these 
 conditions of all earnest, — I might say all truly 
 happy existence, — were wanting ; and Flavia was, 
 in a degree, what Rasselas found himself in his 
 happy valley.
 
 140 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Fairest and foremost of the train, that wait 
 On man's most dignified and happiest state. 
 Whether we name thee. Charity or Love, 
 Chief grace below, and all in all above. 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 I AM tempted to make a little digression, and 
 say something more of the grandmother. 
 
 That aged woman, whose elevated rank was 
 indeed her least ornament ; though the venerable 
 qualities she possessed received, no doubt, a cer- 
 tain encreased interest, and excited a higher admi- 
 ration, from that lofty station which she occupied 
 — and justly. 
 
 We ought to be just to those above us, as to 
 those below us. We ought to endeavour to esti-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 141 
 
 mate the difficulties and temptations which beset 
 those placed above reproof, and out of the reach 
 of ordinary contradictions. We, who are hedged 
 in, as it were, on every side by narrow circum- 
 stances, or by limited influence, or by the re- 
 straints of those to whom we owe obedience, or 
 by the tempers and infirmities of those with whom 
 we have to live — not in extensive palaces and 
 castles, where everv one is independent in his 
 own apartment — but often in the close connection 
 of small rooms, domestic meals, and mutual 
 wants and services. We who occupy some one or 
 other of the varied stages of middle life, are apt 
 to cast an eye of envy — good-natured envy is my 
 meaning here — upon those who, in the possession 
 of more extended advantages, — for advantages in 
 one sense we cannot deny them to be, — are en- 
 dowed with power, wealth, and influence. Means 
 so fruitful to supply all that the heart of man can 
 wish for himself or desire for others. 
 
 But we forget one thing in making an estimate 
 of the happiness of possessing such things ; and 
 the thing we forget is our weakness. 
 
 The trammels that hamper the ordinarv man's
 
 142 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 life, are not so much obstructions as supports. 
 He that may do all that he will, has need, in 
 truth, of a most powerful and righteous will ; to 
 will what he ought — what is best for others, what 
 is best even for himself. 
 
 What energy, what generous determination, 
 what a power of self-government, what virtuous 
 resolution, must have been exercised, when he 
 who might do with impunity almost anything that 
 is wrong, adheres stedfastly to what is right; 
 when he who has the means to command every 
 indulgence is temperate and self-denying; when 
 he to whom every infirmity of temper would be 
 forgiven is patient and gentle ; when he who can 
 make speedy amends for any injustice committed 
 under the temptation of the moment, commits 
 none ; when he who has had no education of suf- 
 fering is pitying to others ; when he who might 
 perform almost every duty by proxy, chooses to 
 perform them in person. 
 
 The old man''s walks in this life lead him little 
 in the way of courts; but she who sits upon a 
 pinnacle is seen in a certain manner, even by 
 those upon the distant plain ; and never are the
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 143 
 
 weekly prayers repeated in her behalf but he feels 
 the justice of thus calling down the blessings of a 
 higher assistance for one, whose virtues, not 
 forced upon her, as it were, by external circum- 
 stance — as in so great a degree is the case with us 
 all — must find their sole source in her own righte- 
 ous and determined heart. Whose faults, not re- 
 pressed by the harsh influences from without, 
 must be eradicated by her own firm and courage- 
 ous will. 
 
 Duty thus fulfilled deserves what it meets with, 
 — the love and esteem of a vast nation^s heart, 
 and the animating and never-dying voice of his- 
 toric applause. 
 
 But to return to one who, in her lofty sphere 
 had fulfilled all the duties of Christian wife, 
 mother, daughter, sister, and friend ; whose 
 charities had been wide as her influence ; whose 
 love unbounded; whose industry^ energy, and 
 application untiring ; with whom each day was as a 
 branch of lifers tree, producing noble fruit; and 
 who now, loaded with the well-earned honours of 
 a well-spent life, stood there, bending under the 
 weight of years, and gradually sinking to that
 
 144 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 final decay which spares not the fairest or the 
 best. 
 
 I happened, little as it is my lot to associate 
 with the great ones of this world, to have been 
 during my own long life placed in circumstances 
 which had enabled me to watch the course of 
 her's. She was some score years, however, older 
 than myself; for the events I relate took place 
 some thirty years ago. But as a child, a boy, a 
 youth, a man, that woman, that Duchess, had 
 been known to me. She was, as it was natural 
 she should be, the cynosure of our neighbour- 
 hood. I was a young child when, beautiful as the 
 day, adorned with all her bridal splendour, with 
 eyes that seemed to my young fancy like twin 
 stars, face as of an angel, form and gestures that 
 w^ere grace itself, I first beheld that fair and 
 youthful creature, then just wedded to our 
 Duke. 
 
 I remember my father, whose qualities rendered 
 him ever a favourite, and always at home in such 
 societies, taking me up to her landau, as she safe 
 upon the race-course, surrounded by admiring 
 men of rank and fashion, with three other beautiful
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 145 
 
 young ladies — but, ah ! how inferior I thought — 
 in the carriage with her. I was an only son, and a 
 favourite, — and she knew it, and had asked for 
 the little boy ; and I was lifted up in my father^s 
 arms. She could not reach to kiss me, as I hoped 
 she would, but she stretched out a lily-white hand 
 all sparkling with jewels, and patted my proud and 
 glowing cheek. 
 
 That same day, too, I saw her standing in the 
 grand stand. I thought she looked as Romeo 
 says Juliet looked, 
 
 Like some heaven- starred messenger 
 When he bestrides the bosom of the clouds. 
 
 I never shall forget the resplendent loveliness 
 of that face and figure. Children are great ad- 
 mirers of beauty, and the pictures impressed upon 
 their memory as children, they retain, and dwell 
 upon with the riper judgment of advancing years. 
 Years have not taught me to lower my admiration 
 for that picture, but to wonder how it is that 
 loveliness so exquisite seems now no longer to 
 belong to our social life. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 The Duke stood by her, — I recollect him, too. 
 He was not to be compared to his fair partner in 
 point of personal beauty, yet have I seldom seen 
 such an engaging-looking person : his figure was 
 manly, well knit, and well sized; his face hand- 
 some enough ; his manners polished, but plain ; 
 but there was a something so simple, so truthful, 
 so honest, — if I may use the word, — so thoroughly 
 English, — all that English should be, — that it was 
 impossible to look upon him and not to love 
 him. 
 
 This sweet creature was fortunate; but how 
 many in her rank have been thus fortunate 
 also, and yet have thrown the rich treasure 
 away. Exchanging domestic love for the empty 
 triumphs of worldly admiration, or for the 
 wicked and forbidden pleasure of ensnaring other 
 hearts. 
 
 But not of such was my charmer. 
 
 She loved her husband : she believed in, and 
 honoured her God : she understood his law, and 
 with all the force of her strong and pure and 
 righteous heart, that law she strove to fulfil. She
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 14? 
 
 bore her husband six children, to whom no 
 mother was more tender, about whom no mother 
 more solicitous. She spared not fatigue nor 
 exertion, nor even privation in their cause. She 
 has laid upon a mattress upon the floor, whilst 
 her children in the hooping-cough were suffering 
 round her. She has sat up wearied and faint to 
 support their sinking heads. Hard did she labour 
 to instil into them the principles which guided her 
 own life ; but less happy in her children, than 
 in her husband, these efforts were not altogether 
 successful. 
 
 She was doomed to be an instance of that 
 inexphcable failure, which sometimes disappoints 
 the best directed efforts. The temptations of 
 rank and fortune, which had been powerless over 
 her own character, proved too strong for theirs. 
 She had to weep over the grave of some delicate, 
 frail, and tender, who grew up to resemble her- 
 self; to weep far bitterer tears over the indiffer- 
 ence, the heartlessness, the contradictions of those 
 who lived and gave themselves to the world. 
 The sorrows of the mother she bore with fortitude 
 and resignation, when they came from the hand 
 
 l2
 
 148 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 of God; with patience, candour, temper, judgment, 
 when those harsher ones assailed her, which pro- 
 ceed from the errors of man. 
 
 Her children left the parental home early : the 
 sons to plunge into all the dissipations of fashion- 
 able life; — the daughters to make splendid mar- 
 riages. They rushed into the world, and the 
 tender sedulous trainings, and the gentle teach- 
 ings, and the earnest exhortations, the piety 
 she had so unremittingly endeavoured to instil, 
 the high principles to inculcate, were alike for- 
 gotten. 
 
 It was bitter to find her gentle remonstrances — 
 her kind advice and counsel — her fond and 
 anxious warnings alike disregarded — her fine judg- 
 ment in things, her experience, her love, valueless 
 and of no avail. Many in such cases have yielded 
 to the pain that agonizes the disappointed mother^s 
 heart, when thus the years of ceaseless care — of 
 painful self-sacrifice — the years of youth and child- 
 hood, close. Many have discarded from their 
 hearts the ungrateful children who thus return a 
 mother^s generous love; — but she was made of 
 better stuff.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 149 
 
 Her patience — the candour with \Yhich she 
 judged — the readiness with which she forgave — 
 the noble^ generous love with which there she 
 sat aside^ waiting in hope that would not be 
 destroyed^ a return to better things — waiting 
 in affection that would not fail^ the hour when 
 sorrow^ difficulty, perplexity, or distress, would 
 send them back to her arms, exceeds my power 
 to describe. 
 
 She waited not entirely in vain. Her influence 
 was in some degree restored, as her help might be 
 needed. She exercised it for the benefit of every 
 creature who suffered themselves to yield to its 
 power. 
 
 She had a hard trial too in her husband — the 
 beloved of her soul. They had not been married 
 half-a-dozen years, before a fall from his horse in 
 hunting — a blow upon the head, unsettled that 
 fine machinery upon which intellectual, and still 
 more mysteriously, even moral health in some 
 degree depends. 
 
 The Duke did not become absolutely incapaci- 
 tated, but his fine intellect was weakened ; that 
 prospect of taking a forward part in political life,
 
 150 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 for which his gifts had so admirably fitted him, 
 and to which she looked forward with so much 
 pride, was at an end. 
 
 The promising young man henceforward was only 
 fit for his own domestic circle and that of intimate 
 friends. His nerves, too, were deranged; his 
 temper, poor fellow, in spite of all his endeavours, 
 too often irritable; his power of exciting love 
 seemed diminished, as his dependance upon the 
 love of others increased. 
 
 He would have exhausted the affection and 
 patience of many a wife, but her^s was inexhaust- 
 ible. Divine pity succeeded to delighted admi- 
 ration — tenderness supplied the place of rapturous 
 
 joy. 
 
 He was, however, fully sensible of all this 
 devotion. The recompense of her fervid attach- 
 ment was not denied. He died in her arms, 
 blessing her with words whilst voice was left, 
 commending her to that God who could alone 
 reward her, recompensing her by the ineffable 
 tenderness which filled his eyes, till death drew 
 the impenetrable veil between them.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 151 
 
 He left her a lovely widow^ — and a widow she 
 remained. The highest offers in the land — for- 
 tune^ fame, splendour, worth, and intellect, were 
 at her feet; but her heart was in the grave 
 with her first and only love, and she remained 
 alone. 
 
 And now she is sinking slowly into years. The 
 well-spent day is coming to a close, and the shades 
 of night are drawing on. 
 
 The active spirit no longer urges to exertion 5 
 that frame of healthful symmetry, formed, as it 
 should seem, for action, has lost its power. The 
 golden bowl is breaking, the wheel at the cistern 
 abates its swift motion. She feels the necessity 
 for rest, and she has earned a right to it. 
 
 I used to be more struck with the way she 
 took this change, than with any other period of 
 this beautiful life. 
 
 She, who used to be so active, and was never 
 to be seen unemployed, who, when not engaged 
 in the discharge of some duty, seemed to find such 
 delight in the cultivation of one of the finest 
 intellects I ever met with ; — she, who was to be
 
 152 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 seen reading, writing, discoursing in her animated 
 way, in full enjoyment of the rare society she 
 assembled about her, drinking in knowledge with 
 the healthy eagerness of a fine mind ; — she, the 
 soul of every society in which she bore a part — 
 the delighted reader of every new and interesting 
 book ; whose stores of knowledge exercised every 
 day, as did her faculty for imparting it — this 
 animated, ardent creature might now be seen 
 quiet and unemployed, reposing in her arm-chair, 
 most often a listener to what was going on — rarely 
 a speaker; and when she spoke, not with the 
 garrulity of age, but with the brevity of one, 
 whom long experience had made wise. 
 
 She read very little now ; and when I used to 
 ofier to read to her some of those new works with 
 ^ which the world of the day is most often occupied, 
 she would in general decline it. 
 
 I remember her thanking me one day for not 
 being weary of repeating my offers in this way; 
 but she told me, that she found her powers of 
 attention were so much diminished, that nothing 
 but what was light and trifling could be received
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 153 
 
 into her mind without a painful and wearying 
 effort. 
 
 "I have perceived this incapacity growing 
 upon me for some time. I was very much mor- 
 tified at first, and resolved by no means to yield 
 to it. I persisted in reading as much as usual, 
 but I found I could no longer do it and do right. 
 The ideas confused, instead of enlarging my un- 
 derstanding; the occupation exhausted, instead 
 of refreshing my spirits ; that became painful 
 which used to be the recreation of my leisure 
 hours, and unfitted, instead of preparing me for 
 what was yet to be done. I am of great age now; 
 few are allowed to attain to such an age, but 
 those who look forward to it may do it with 
 peaceful hope. This incapacity, which to your 
 young mind, my friend, appears so grievous, is 
 but to life what the repose of the evening is to a 
 hard-spent day. We enjoy sitting still. My 
 mirid is not altogether an unfurnished chamber,'^ 
 added she, gently, " and my heart teems with 
 tender memories. The anguish which attends the 
 thinking of those we loved so dearly, and who
 
 154 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 are gone hence^ I feel no more. I am so near 
 the grave that I can think of those who are 
 already upon the other side of it, with something 
 of the pleasure with which one anticipates the 
 return of a long absent friend after a wearying 
 separation in some distant country — whom one 
 has not yet received, but whom one certainly 
 soon shall/^ 
 
 One interest, indeed, was still lively as ever, 
 the interest which was excited by Flavia. There 
 were active duties still to be performed for Flavia, 
 and it was in order to be enabled to discharge 
 these well, that this admirable person hoarded 
 so carefully the little strength that was left ; gave 
 so much time to quiet meditative repose, and 
 refused herself the now too exhausting amusement 
 of the mind. 
 
 In this beloved grandchild the aged woman 
 found a compensation for many disappoint- 
 ments. She loved and was interested in all her 
 grandchildren, but she had little to do with any 
 of them except Flavia and Lord George, who 
 had both by circumstances been thrown almost
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 155 
 
 altogether under her care. She loved Lord 
 George with all her heart. There is something in 
 the petulant gaiety of a lively, thoughtless, but 
 very well-disposed youth, that is particularly 
 delightful to old age, especially as when, in this 
 case, he is most affectionately attached on his 
 side. Lord George loved his grandmother with all 
 his heart, and truly, as a matter of individual taste 
 and preference. This was a sweet drop in her 
 cup. Wherever he went, with whomsoever he had 
 been, he never seemed sorry to come back to her. 
 He was always gay, full of spirits and fun, when 
 at home with her ; had always abundance to tell 
 her, opened his heart to her, made her the con- 
 fidant of all his faults and follies ; and no laugh 
 seemed to sound sweeter in his ears than that 
 with which she greeted his lively sallies. The old 
 lady and the young spark of fashion were the 
 dearest friends in the world. 
 
 But the sentiment inspired by Flavia was of a 
 far more earnest and deeper character. The 
 lovely little girl, — who had been one of those 
 delightful children that seem born to gladden the
 
 156 THE WTLMINGTONS. 
 
 eyes and excite the admiration of every one, — had 
 ripened into the gay, sweet-tempered, easy, affec- 
 tionate young thing, in whom few suspect the 
 latent qualities which all this almost childish grace 
 and beauty covered. But the Duchess, amid all 
 the enchantments of the charming trifler, had 
 early detected the qualities that lay concealed: the 
 firmness of purpose, the soundness of under- 
 standing, the deep devotion and power of love. 
 She prized this treasure almost the more dearly, 
 because she felt as if it was a possession almost 
 confined to herself. They were hidden perfections, 
 by few but herself appreciated; a hoard of bliss, 
 in which no one seemed to share. 
 
 Flavia loved the Duchess as no one else — much 
 as all loved her — could love her. The rest loved 
 her for many reasons, and according to their 
 power of loving. Flavia was capable of esti- 
 mating the full value of that to which she was so 
 tenderly attached. It requires a certain sympathy 
 before the full beauty of some characters can be 
 even perceived. 
 
 And now they are sitting together after the day 
 of the yacht party.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 15? 
 
 The Duchess, fatigued by the exertion, is lean- 
 ing backward in her arm-chair, her feet upon a 
 footstool ; upon which Flavia sits, and holds her 
 hand, and prattles, as is her wont, to this dearest 
 friend, commenting upon the characters and the 
 events which have made up the history of the last
 
 158 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Wilt thou adjure to guide the heavenly car, 
 
 And with thy daring folly burn the world? 
 
 Wilt thou reach stars, because they shine on thee ? 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 *^ I don't like that Mr. Wilmington — I cannot 
 like him. Don't think, dear madam^ it is because 
 he is vulgar, which he certainly is, and I think in 
 the most repulsive form of vulgarity, — that which 
 is fine and flashy ; but there is something false in 
 that face : it is excessively handsome and smiling, 
 and all that ; but it is false." 
 
 ^^Not false in one thing at least, I believe, 
 Flavia. It promises good nature and indulgence ; 
 and I have heard its promises are performed. He
 
 THE WILMINGTONS, 159 
 
 has been a kind husband, and a very indulgent 
 father : he denies his children nothing. ^^ 
 
 " I believe so ; and yet he does not make his 
 children — one of them at least — happy. That is 
 evident to me, in Harry Wilmington^s case. As 
 for Caroline, she has so much strength of cha- 
 racter, that her happiness seems to depend upon 
 herself. No, indeed, grandmamma, I cannot abide 
 Mr. Wilmington. What a fuss he made yester- 
 day ! — So full of the part of host he had to play ; 
 so obsequious, yet so vain. Do you know, dear 
 grandmamma, there is a certain sort of fine and 
 rather sharp-featured, thin-lipped, smiling, hand- 
 some face, particularly when united to a tall, 
 elegant, slender figure, that is my abomination.^^ 
 
 "And do you know, dear Flavia, if there is a 
 thing which I cannot endure, it is to go and receive 
 a person's hospitality, and then come home and 
 criticise his manner. I would rather at any other 
 time in the year have heard your remarks upon 
 Mr. Wilmington.'' 
 
 "Which, after all, grandmamma, you think 
 just. Come, confess that you do, dearest 
 granny."
 
 160 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 " Noj" said the old lady ; ^^ I have tasted of his 
 bread and salt." 
 
 "Do you like Caroline and Harry, grand- 
 mamma ? You have not seen much of either of 
 them; but you observe with half an eye. As I 
 may not discuss the one we can neither of us 
 praise, — for I know you think me right in what I 
 say 5 — let us talk of those we cannot praise too 
 much." 
 
 ^^ Cannot praise too much ! — I grant you that 
 Caroline is very charming — a delightful person — 
 but her brother ! I confess I rather wonder at my 
 sweet Flavia, — who, whether she can see with 
 half an eye or not, has two very good ones in her 
 head, — I confess I rather wonder my sweet 
 riavia can find no defect in that young man." 
 
 ^^ Grandmamma, there are defects I do care 
 for, and defects I don^t care for. I would rather 
 a man was awkward than flashy — too shy than 
 too assured — reserved than forward — humble than 
 self-sufficient. I dislike the defects of the father; 
 I care not for those of the son. But that is, I 
 believe, because — wrongly or rightly — I associate 
 truth, honesty, delicacy, sensibility with one set
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 161 
 
 of defects, and shallowness, falseness^ insincerity, 
 want of delicacy^ and coarseness of feeling witli 
 the other/' 
 
 The Duchess fondly stroked her hand over the 
 head of her favourite. 
 
 ^^ Besides, Harry is not happy — I am sure he 
 is not ; and Mr. Wilmington seems careering 
 down life with his sails swelled by a full gale of 
 prosperity. I never saw any man apparently so 
 well satisfied with himself and all that belongs to 
 him, — another mark, I think, of dulness of per- 
 ception and want of feeling. Except, I may say, 
 as respects his son : he holds him cheap enough, I 
 can see that ; because, forsooth, he is not so hand- 
 some as his showy self. And then Harry has so 
 much sensibility, that this depresses him in his 
 own opinion — I can see it does ; and there, I own 
 Harry is not to be praised. '^ 
 
 ^^ You talked a good deal with him, I saw, my 
 dear. Had you seen much of him during your 
 last visit to Caroline ? You did not tell me much 
 about him." 
 
 ^' No ; I met him only once or twice. But I 
 saw enough to make me aware of this, and to 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 make me feel vexed and sorry for him. I cannot 
 endure to see merit depressed by the arrogance 
 and assumption of (demerit. It seems to me often 
 to happen in this worlds — the worser holding down 
 the better, and that merely from the want of the 
 very qualities to which the better owes its supe- 
 riority. It always makes me fly to arms ; I long 
 to assert that better cause; I feel interested 
 and engaged in this manner more than I can 
 say." 
 
 " My dear female Quixote, take care what you 
 are about/^ said the Duchess gently ; " a young 
 
 " Oh V said Flavia, laughing, " I quite forget 
 he is a young man. One never looks upon Harry 
 as one does upon other young men. I never feel 
 ashamed of praising him; I could do it to his 
 face. He is not the least like other young 
 men." 
 
 "Not very like dear George, certainly," re- 
 marked the grandmother, evidently pleased with 
 this last speech. 
 
 She was not quite so well pleased with the 
 rest.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 16S 
 
 " Lord George like Jiim! Goodness, how 
 different they are !'' 
 
 "George has certainly not had the advantage of 
 beins: bound down bv the arrosfance of element/' 
 said the Duchess. "We have all spoiled him 
 more than enough ; yet he is a dear fellow. He 
 has resisted the ill effects of boundless indulgence 
 wonderfully ; he is a dear fellow — time and expe- 
 rience will make him all we can wish." 
 
 It was now Flavians turn to be silent. She 
 made no remark upon this eulogy, but sat there 
 at her grandmother's feet, musing. At last she 
 said : 
 
 " I wonder whether Mr. Wilmington is really 
 so excessively rich as everybody says he is. What 
 an immensity of money he seems to spend!'' 
 
 "There seems no reason to doubt his wealth, 
 dear Flavia ; I never heard it questioned, and I 
 should be sorry indeed to question it. To a man 
 engaged in commerce, even the idle expression 
 of a doubt may be an injury, a blight, a check — 
 the small beginning of ruin. Pray, my love, do 
 not let your dislike to Mr. Wilmington's some- 
 what too obsequious smiles lead you to hint at 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 anything of this kind. You do not know the 
 mischief you might do/' 
 
 '' Thank you^ dear granny, for putting me upon 
 my guard. I will take care, I assure you, not to 
 give any one but yourself the benefit of my specu- 
 lations ; but as we are quite alone, I may venture 
 to say, that I don't think Mr. Wilmington is so 
 very, very rich as he pretends, or at least appears 
 to be; not exactly intending to impose upon any- 
 body — for I think he is above that — but his 
 expenses seem enormous. He never denies him- 
 self anything ; and yet I could fancy sometimes 
 that he was vexed about money. And then that 
 poor dear Mrs. Wilmington is such a helpless 
 being ! You cannot conceive, grandmamma, what 
 a cypher she is in her family — and yet an expen- 
 sive cypher in her way. And I must own Mr. 
 Wilmington spares nothing upon her — nor, indeed, 
 upon his children either; but the whole is man- 
 aged in so different a manner from what things 
 are here. There is no order, no system, no plan, 
 no discipline. Poor Mrs. Wilmington is forced to 
 leave everything to her housekeeper ; and Mr. 
 Wilmington is completely in the hands of his
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 165 
 
 butler^ who is, to tell the truth, a still finer gen- 
 tleman than himself. The butler, he seems to 
 think — because he once lived with Lord some- 
 body or other — must understand things better than 
 even he himself does ; so the man has it all his 
 own way. I have seen Caroline and Harry look 
 annoyed about it; but Mrs. Wilmington is too 
 poorly to be troubled with such things. If I were 
 a wife and a mother, I think I would hold the 
 reins, though I were dying, rather than abandon 
 them to such depend ants.^^ 
 
 '^ Happily, my little love, you have never known 
 what it is to feel dying — which that suffering crea- 
 ture feels, I believe, every day of her life ; but I 
 agree with you. I wish she could m,ake more 
 exertion, however painful, for I believe it would 
 be better for her, and for all ; but in some things 
 she has played her part well : she has been sedu- 
 lous in bringing up her children ; and many of the 
 good qualities you attribute to your favourites, are 
 owing to her care. But do you know, my love, 
 though I checked you at first in the expression of 
 them, your remarks have set me thinking }'' 
 
 She, in fact, mused for a short time ; and her
 
 166 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 reflections were upon the subject of Flavia. 
 There was something in the young girPs manner 
 of speaking of Harry Wilmington^ which had^ for 
 the first time in her life, suggested the thought, 
 that, in spite of his disadvantages, he might have 
 formed for himself some interest in her heart, 
 though she could hardly think it possible that he 
 could prove a serious rival to Lord George. As 
 little had it ever suggested itself to her mind 
 before, that Harry might not inherit that immense 
 wealth upon the death of his father, for which the 
 world gave him credit. The two ideas now pre- 
 sented came very disagreeably together. A slight 
 apprehension that Flavia might some time or other 
 entertain a decided preference for Harry, agreed 
 ill with the doubt as to Harry^s prospects. 
 
 Now, though the Duchess was disinterested, and 
 had no desire to make an ambitious match for her 
 favourite — which, indeed, was manifest, by her 
 partiality for the idea of Lord George— yet if 
 Lord George were to be superseded, it ought to be 
 by some person at least entitled from his rank or 
 fortune to put in a claim. She felt as if she 
 should be much to blame, if she allowed a prefer-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 16/ 
 
 ence, which now amounted only to a slight par- 
 tiality, to ripen into more serious feelings — if 
 there was any doubt as to the stability of that 
 fortune upon which Harry^s position in society 
 depended. 
 
 " You have made me uncomfortable, Flavia/^ at 
 last she said. 
 
 " How, dearest grandmamma ? I hope not by 
 what I have been saying. I chatter to you, — ^you 
 have always allowed it, — of everything that comes 
 into my head. I don^t know how I came to talk 
 so much of the Wilmingtons. I am sure I don't 
 care if Mr. Wilmington went smash to-morrow, 
 as far as he is concerned ; but for Caroline and 
 Harry, it would be a shocking thing to be sure ; 
 but I don't fear that. Only when people talk of 
 Harry Wilmington having some time or other 
 such an immense fortune, all I can say is, that I 
 very much doubt it.'^ 
 
 " You think a great deal about him and his 
 prospects, it seems to me, my dear.'^ 
 
 "Do 1 ? No, I don't think I do. I don't 
 know why I have talked about them so much to- 
 day. But I am so tired and good for nothing with
 
 168 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 the yachting yesterday; yet it was a beautiful 
 scene. But I will try to find something to do." 
 
 She rose, and went to her pianoforte. 
 
 But the pianoforte seemed out of tune. Slie 
 could neither sing nor play to please herself. 
 She took a book ; but the book did not interest 
 her. 
 
 She sat down to her embroidery-frame. This 
 did better ; as her needle went in and out^ her 
 thoughts could wander where they would without 
 injury to her employment. 
 
 The young people met frequently. The place 
 they were at was one of those bathing-places where 
 there is nothing to be seen or done except upon 
 the sea-shore^ or upon some esplanade^ pier, or 
 public walk. 
 
 The weather was warm and delightful, — a season 
 to spend one's life out of doors. The mother and 
 the grandmother were much confined by their in- 
 firmities to their several houses. The young
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 169 
 
 people went out by themselves ; that is, in a party 
 together. They mostly paraded up and down the 
 esplanade, in front of the row of lodging-houses ; 
 and the mother and grandmother, from their re- 
 spective windows, looked out, and served in a man- 
 ner as cliaperons. 
 
 The young ones might be seen, all five together, 
 walking up and down; while the sea breezes played 
 in their hair and garments, and the bright sun shone 
 upon the sparkling waters, enjoying the sweetness 
 of the air, the freshness of young spirits, and that 
 easy intercourse which renders society so charming 
 to youth. 
 
 Caroline and Flavia went arm-in-arm, Selwynand 
 Lord George beside them, and Harry rather thrown 
 out, — sometimes behind, sometimes upon the ex- 
 treme left, walking in a musing mood, whilst the 
 others were chatting gaily away. 
 
 The Duchess, as she watched the group, felt the 
 slight anxiety which had been awakened upon 
 Flavia's account diminish. There certainly seemed 
 no disposition upon the young man's part to 
 make any pretension to her especial notice, and 
 she seemed as gay and happy as possible without
 
 170 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 his attentions. Moreover, Lord George always 
 came in after these friendly promenades in exube- 
 rant spirits. 
 
 Harry it was certain grew more grave and silent 
 than ever. Anxiety and care, and grief, that bitter 
 foe to love, were in his heart. He usually walked 
 a little apart when the rest were gaily chatting to- 
 gether, listening to that voice which was to his ear 
 such sweet music, and, poor, imprudent fellow, 
 suiFering himself to dwell upon attractions already 
 far too powerful for his peace, — in utter hopeless- 
 ness; for the idea of attempting to excite an 
 answering feeling in her breast never crossed his 
 mind as a possibility. 
 
 He was accustomed to suffer, and little of a 
 calculator as to what was good for himself. The 
 indifference to his own happiness amounted almost 
 to a fault. In this case he was entirely regardless 
 as to the risk he was running, and, indeed, to tell 
 the truth, he felt that he had little happiness to 
 risk. 
 
 I don't think he was at this time much annoyed 
 by the presence of Lord George. He had been 
 accustomed for so many years to look upon Flavia
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. l?! 
 
 as some way or other set apart for that favourite 
 of fortune^ that the idea had become habitual to 
 him, and made a part in all future prospects. 
 
 He was happy to be allowed to enjoy so much 
 of her society in this way ; he had never imagined 
 the possibility of enjoying more. 
 
 The day spent on board the yacht remained in 
 his heart and memory as a day set apart — a day 
 quite distinct from any other day of his existence 
 — a day in which he had been really and almost 
 perfectly happy : it left the sweetest recollections 
 behind it — recollections upon which the heart can 
 feed with ever new delight. 
 
 Whilst Flavia prattled^ Caroline and Selwyn 
 conversed, and Lord George rattled away. The 
 silent and meditative youth^ amid many painful 
 causes for reflection, was soothed by the remem- 
 brance of words and looks that consoled, and ani- 
 mated him forwards in the path he thought pointed 
 out for him. 
 
 His path of duty he began to believe would lie 
 in ways the most irksome to his tastes — the most 
 in contradiction with his ideas of happiness — the 
 sacrifices which it demanded would be immense.
 
 172 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 nothing less than that of all his dearest tastes and 
 inclinations. And yet, the sacrifice would be 
 never appreciated, never even guessed by any of 
 those who surrounded him. The course which it 
 cost him such an heroic effort to determine upon, 
 was so exactly that which, according to the com- 
 mon routine of life, most young men pursued, 
 that the cost it would demand in his particular 
 case would never even be divined. 
 
 Flavia would never know what he had done, 
 for the sake of what he thought right; that 
 sweetest reward, her approbation, would never 
 attend the effort. He knew how precious a re- 
 compense it was, for he had tasted it once. It 
 had fallen unexpectedly as the rich repayment of 
 one good deed, which had been to him so easy, 
 that he felt there was not the slightest merit in 
 it ; and now he cherished a tender and delicate 
 pride in the thought of dedicating to her, as it 
 were, in secret, an act of self-immolation, which 
 would cost him so many struggles, and which he 
 felt to include no less than the sacrifice of his 
 life. 
 
 The state of his mother's health also added
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 173 
 
 mucli to his present seriousness. He seemed to 
 be more aware than his father, or even Caroline, 
 of the increasing M'eakness which slowly gained 
 ground upon her. Every day he fancied he saw 
 her losing something of the little strength and 
 energy she had possessed. Caroline, who was 
 with her almost every hour, did not so much 
 perceive this. It is a very common effect of 
 being continually with an invalid of this de- 
 scription. 
 
 The son and the mother had many conversa- 
 tions together. She spoke to him of her approach- 
 ing death. She had expected her death so often ; 
 for so many years she had suffered from that terror 
 of speedy death which is one painful symptom of 
 her malady, that the feeling had ceased to excite 
 attention in those around her. She knew she was 
 not believed, and she ceased to express the appre- 
 hension. 
 
 But Harry, she felt, still would listen to her; 
 and to him she said that she had so often most 
 involuntarily and unwittingly been frightened 
 about herself, that she did not wonder no one 
 was alarmed. " But this time, my boy, I feel
 
 174 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 that it will not be as it has been before ; I shall 
 not be long with my son. 
 
 " Harry^ I have been a poor inefficient wife and 
 mother^ now I look back upon my life^ and recol- 
 lect how little I have done ; I feel that I ought 
 and could have done more. The distressing sense 
 of languor to which I have yielded^ was^, I know, 
 a most incapacitating feeling ; but this does not 
 satisfy my conscience, as the certainty of absolute 
 want of power would have done. It would have 
 been very painful, very laborious for me to have 
 performed what requires a very simple exertion 
 upon the part of others ; but I could have done it 
 if I had had the courage to bear weariness, and 
 pain and resist the love of that quiet in which 
 alone I found existence comfortable. 
 
 " I did not sufficiently reflect upon the duty of 
 self-inflicted pain. I had been brought up in a 
 somewhat imperfect view of duty, and accustomed 
 too much to think that, provided no positive 
 injury was inflicted by it, self-indulgence was a 
 slight fault in myself or any one ; and therefore I 
 had never been disciplined^ nor had I attempted 
 to discipline myself to endurance and self-denial.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS, IJS 
 
 Such things were looked upon by those who had 
 the charge of my education as superstitious 
 notions. Everybody was to be as happy as they 
 could — not as useful as they could, according to 
 that system. 
 
 " Not to inflict pain, not to diminish the hap- 
 piness of others, we ive?^e taught ; but the neces- 
 sity of exertion in order to secure the welfare of 
 others, was not insisted upon ; — the necessity of 
 preparing ourselves by early habit to play a useful 
 and efficient part in such a world as this, by the 
 practice of a somewhat severe self-discipline, never 
 once thought of. 
 
 " I avoided exertions, because they were so 
 painful — exertions, which it would have been in 
 m}'' power to make, could I have brought myself 
 to despise the pain. Ah ! Harry, where should 
 I be now, if One had not despised pain for me ?" 
 " Dearest of mothers, how can you talk so ?^' said 
 her son, tenderly. ^' So suffering as your life has 
 been, how can you reproach yourself for not 
 having done what you were so little equal to 
 
 do r' 
 
 "The power was in me — my conscience tells
 
 176 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 me so now — if I had resolutely determined to use 
 it. But whether in my power or not, the evil has 
 been the same. Excuses, or even just reasons, 
 for the thing being left undone, do not do it. 
 
 ^^ My dear boy,^^ looking at him with an anxious 
 melancholy expression, " that is a fearful text for 
 a parentis heart, Hhe sins of the parents are visited 
 upon the children to the third and fourth genera- 
 tion.' My Harry, what a prospect lies before m.e! 
 — I think I see our sins visited upon you.'' 
 
 " Dear mother, do not give way to such — for- 
 give the expression — morbid feelings. Sins! 
 How can you talk of sins in a course so innocent 
 as yours — and, I may add — my father's? If he 
 is fond of the v/orld, is it not natural — formed to 
 shine in it as he is ?" 
 
 ^^ Alas ! my own, how differently do things 
 appear to those who have arrived at that point 
 where I stand now — upon the threshold of another 
 world. What vain shadov/s do the distinctions, 
 and the vanities, and the fluctuating pleasures of 
 this world appear! Sins! I have learned too late 
 how heavy are the sins of omission." Thus she 
 lamented herself.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 177 
 
 An impartial observer might have detected the 
 latent weakness of her character even in these 
 continued lamentations over her own short-com- 
 ings. Not in the regret for wasted time — for what 
 could be more just than such feelings ? — but in 
 the manner in which she expressed her regrets, — 
 thus helplessly dwelling upon a painful subject, 
 She did not, however, entirely give her time and 
 thoughts to these feelings. During the few months 
 which she lived after this time, she took every 
 opportunity of talking seriously to her son. 
 
 She still adhered to her principle of not endea- 
 vouring to open the eyes of her children to their 
 father's faults, to which, except in the above slight 
 instance, she had never alluded. But her eye 
 cleared to the perception of the vanity of worldly 
 things ; she more clearly perceived those errors 
 in character, which her partiality had hitherto 
 concealed. 
 
 She could not hide from herself the truth, that 
 Mr. Wilmington, in spite of all his apparent good 
 nature, was a mere thoughtless, extravagant, self- 
 indulged spendthrift, — vain of his wealth, and 
 proud of displaying it in every form of extrava- 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 gance, — averse to business^ and detesting unplea- 
 sant tasks, — sedulously luxurious and ostentatious 
 in his habits, — and one, whose sole aim in life, it 
 seemed to be, to outshine others of his own rank, 
 rival those of a rank above him. 
 
 During the last half-year of her tedious indis- 
 position, though he had never ceased to be kind 
 in his manner and purpose, nay, in providing the 
 means for her comfort and amusement, yet she 
 could not but perceive, that the melancholy of a 
 sick-room — the dismal prospect of approaching 
 death, was more than he could submit to. Any- 
 thing so repugnant to his feelings and disagreeable, 
 he could not bring himself to endure. To a man 
 with so little real tenderness of heart, nothing is 
 so uninteresting and annoying as a sick-room. It 
 was a dangerous habit of Mr. Wilmington to 
 fancy that neglected duty was to be atoned for 
 by calling upon his purse. He felt that he was 
 less with his wife than he ought to be, and he 
 therefore was boundless in the expense he incurred 
 on her account, and often in the most useless 
 manner. " A few words of real tenderness would 
 have done more for her than all the expensive
 
 THE ^yILMINGTONS. l79 
 
 delicacies he purchased. She knew he spent 
 much of his time with his friend, the dashing 
 Mrs. Emerson ; and she heard of her beautiful 
 daughter, — and she looked at Caroline and 
 sighed. 
 
 Caroline, however, as yet was young and unsus- 
 picious ; she little imagined what anticipation it 
 was which clouded the last sad hours of the wife 
 and mother. The idea of this sort of prospective 
 attachment never entered her head. Young 
 creatures at her age, if rightly -minded, are 
 incapable of suspecting in others what would be 
 so offensive to their feelings of loyalty, decency, 
 and tenderness. 
 
 In her conversations with Henry, the mother 
 never alluded in the remotest manner to that 
 subject; but she did to another — his father^s 
 circumstances. Her eye, as I have said, purified 
 by the near approach of death, she began to per- 
 ceive that the lavish extravagance in which she had 
 been content to share, was not only wrong, but 
 possibly dangerous. She recollected her hus- 
 band's irregularity in his accounts, and entire 
 want of system or arrangement in his expenditure, 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 — his dislike to business — his long absences from 
 town upon the most trivial causes ; and she saw 
 before her the faces of his two partners. 
 
 Estcourt^ with that sharp satirical eye^ that 
 cynical face, those cold quiet, manners, so ex- 
 actly the reverse of those of her gay, thoughtless 
 husband; and Jones, that sturdy, stolid, steady, 
 man of pounds and pence, devoted heart and soul 
 to the sole object of acquiring wealth, and who never 
 missed an opportunity or scrupled at taking an 
 advantage. And then she recollected with a sigh, 
 that the only real friend her husband possessed 
 in the world, Mr. Craiglethorpe, was far away in 
 the East Indies. He had been there, indeed, 
 for many years, during which her husband's habits 
 of inattention and carelessness of expense had 
 considerably increased. 
 
 These thoughts and anxieties, not in a clear, 
 distinct, courageous, truthful manner, but half 
 and half — irresolutely, hesitatingly, — saying little, 
 implying much — doubting of her own impressions 
 one time, full of cruel conviction at another, — she 
 infused into Harry's mind. 
 
 It was a wretched state into w^hich she threw
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 181 
 
 him by this want of courage and sincerity ; he 
 did not like to interrogate her upon subjects, from 
 the consideration of which she seemed to shrink 
 with so much pain; yet the most distressing doubts 
 began to perplex him. 
 
 These conversations, however, it was, which 
 first directed his attention to the state of his 
 father's fortune ; for the great expense at which he 
 lived had been from infancy such a matter of course, 
 that it had never entered into the boy's head to 
 doubt the abundance of means from which effects 
 so copious without intermission flowed. 
 
 There arose a painful inquiry as to what duty 
 demanded on his part. The wish of his whole 
 life had been to travel. He had a hunger after 
 information — that rational and praisewortliy thirst 
 of the soul which had become with him an almost 
 irresistible desire; and Selwyn and he had planned 
 a tour over Europe and in the East, which was 
 to occupy two or three years — years which, how 
 could either of them better employ? The health 
 of Selwyn, they both flattered themselves, would 
 improve whilst travelling; and as they could afford 
 to spend abundance of time as well as money.
 
 182 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 they were to proceed as leisurely as consideration 
 upon that head might demand. Harry felt, and 
 felt justly, that nothing would be of so much 
 service to him in assisting him to overcome his 
 constitutional defects, as thus mingling with men 
 of all descriptions, and exposing himself to 
 every variety of circumstance. Everything had 
 been arranged between them for years; it had 
 been their ultimate purpose from boyhood, the 
 termination of one act of their lives, to which 
 they looked forward with the highest satisfaction. 
 The plan had been delayed upon account of the 
 state of his mother^s health : it was plain that she 
 could not have borne the separation ; the subject, 
 therefore, out of tenderness for her infirmity, had 
 never been mentioned to her. She was, therefore,, 
 not in the least aware of the sacrifice she was 
 exacting from her son, when she entreated him 
 to remain near his father, and assist him in the 
 management of his affairs ; making the request 
 with an earnestness he found quite irresistible, 
 without, however, fully explaining her reasons. 
 He could not withhold from a mother, in such a 
 state, the promise she almost dragged from him.
 
 THE WILMIXGTONS. 183 
 
 not to leave his father^ and yet, at the very mo- 
 ment he was making it, he doubted whether the 
 sacrifice of all his dearest inclinations was founded 
 upon any rational good, or merely demanded by 
 her sickly and exaggerated terrors. However, 
 the sacrifice was made : Selwyn started upon 
 his travels alone, — Harry remained with his 
 family. 
 
 It was a melancholy parting. 
 
 The poor sufferer died in doubt, irresolution, 
 and ill-defined terrors, as she had lived. 
 
 She was a believer without a strengthening 
 faith ; amiable and affectionate without self-devo- 
 tion and courage; sensible of her defects, re- 
 pentant, and contrite, without power to correct or 
 effort to amend. 
 
 Her life had been like a confused skein of deli- 
 cate and valuable thread, tangled for want of 
 careful development. She came to the end of 
 it, and all was still confusion and all useless in
 
 184 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 spite of its adaptation to so many fine pur- 
 poses : — 
 
 Non ragionam piu^ ma guardam e passa. 
 
 And may those in danger of the same waste of 
 existence, for want of courage to meet its de- 
 mands, and defy its pains, — and they are many- 
 pause upon the slight sketch of this ineffectual 
 character. Forbear to sigh, for sighs are weakness, 
 but brace up the feeble knees, and endeavour to 
 amend. 
 
 She died. 
 
 Her children shed many pious tears over the help- 
 less form that lay before them, scarcely less help- 
 less than it had actually been in life ; but they were 
 not of those to recall the errors and frailties of 
 the sacred dead, for which the poor mute clay can 
 no longer plead excuse or offer explanation. 
 
 They v/ept her tenderly, but the trace she had 
 left in life was not deep. Things resumed their 
 course in a few months, and the stream of time 
 closed over her. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington shed a few tears, ordered a 
 splendid funeral, put his servants into the very
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 185 
 
 deepest mourning, lined his large pompous pew 
 Vvitli blacky shut himself up for a few weeks^ and 
 then came out into the world, looking remarkably- 
 well in his mourning, which necessarily corrected 
 his too showy taste in matters of dress, and was 
 soon immersed in the round of those pleasures 
 which in the great city attend upon vrealth and 
 liberty. Henry sighed, and returned to the count- 
 ing-house, where at least one satisfaction awaited 
 him, — a gradually growing conviction that it was 
 right he should be there. 
 
 Caroline was installed as the head of her 
 father^s establishment, which she soon began 
 to manage with an intelligence, firmness, and 
 attention to order and system hitherto little known 
 there. 
 
 After the long reign of misrule, you will easily 
 believe that it required a rare amount of activity, 
 courage, and perseverance, to subdue ill-governed 
 and insubordinate domestics to obedience, and 
 bring a boundless expenditure of money within 
 the limits of a liberal and judicious economy. 
 But girls of eighteen or nineteen, which was now 
 Caroline's age, are often gifted with a native
 
 186 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 genius and capacity^ and possessed of a spirit and 
 energy which enables them to produce astonishing 
 effects; and Caroline was quite equal to her task. 
 To be sure^ the difficulty was very much dimi- 
 nished, and the effort rendered delightful by her 
 father's partiality. His esteem and admiration 
 for his fine sensible girl was the best thing 
 about him. He bore that from her which he 
 would have borne from no other living being ; for 
 she was temperate and mild, though plain and 
 sincere. He suffered the expenses of his house- 
 hold to be controlled; he turned a deaf ear to the 
 complaints of his servants ; he even accepted the 
 resignation of that butler, of whose skill in the 
 direction of his table he had felt so vain ; and he 
 suffered Caroline to persuade him' into a variety 
 of wise and reasonable measures. Reason was so 
 persuasive from her lips. 
 
 This affection was a great encouragement and a 
 source of much happiness to her. Even his very 
 weaknesses rendered Mr. Wilmington dear to his 
 daughter. We naturally love those who suffer us 
 to guide them to their good. 
 
 Caroline loved her father more dearly than she
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 187 
 
 could possibly have loved such a character under 
 any other relation of life — a character which 
 indeed^ but for this relation, never could have 
 interested her in the least. 
 
 Three or four years were spent in this manner: 
 and thus ends this first part or preface to my story. 
 And I must now" beg you to suppose these three 
 or four years over, — and, if I have succeeded in 
 the least degree in interesting you in the fate of a 
 man I loved so dearly and esteemed so truly as 
 I did Henry Wilmington, — to accompany me 
 through the remainder of his history. 
 
 END OF PART I.
 
 188 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 She was so expensive, that the income of three Dukes was not 
 enough to supply her extravagance. — Arbuthnot. 
 
 In a spacious and very splendidly fur- 
 nished drawing-room two ladies were sitting 
 together. 
 
 The scene was in itself a picture. Such a pic- 
 ture, however, as any of those dwellings might 
 present, which, belonging to, I may say, the 
 almost innumerable possessors of great mercantile 
 wealth, cover the face of our land. The chamber
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 189 
 
 was so large^ and so loft}-, as to merit the old- 
 fashioned but imposing name of saloon. It was 
 beautifully proportioned^ and was terminated at 
 one end by a fine oriel window of magnificent di- 
 mensions, which opened upon a richly-trellissed 
 balcony, now hung and festooned with creeping 
 plants. The large purple and the lovely white 
 clematis, honeysuckles, fragrant and of various 
 hues, and lovely trailing roses, — pink, crimson, 
 yellow, white, — all mingling delightfully together, 
 and forming a charming arch of flowers and ver- 
 dure, over the rare and costly exotics with which 
 the balcony was filled. 
 
 Beyond this beautiful trellis-work the eye fell 
 upon a beautiful garden, inclosed by fine shrub- 
 beries, cultivated and growing in the finest luxuri- 
 ance. The well-known plants, long the ornament 
 of our gardens, being mingled most pleasingly 
 with many scarcely acclimated strangers. The deli- 
 cate feathery pines, the dark and almost sub- 
 lime araucarias, the svv'eetly- tinted berberris, 
 and others of those delightful new-comers.
 
 190 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 to the list of which every year seems to add some 
 new treasure. 
 
 The lawn fell from the windows to the river. 
 The Thames flowed at its feet, with that rapid- 
 ity which gives such an agreeable promise of 
 healthy and changing airs; whilst the almost 
 crystal waters ripple forwards, and bathe the base 
 of this gently-falling bank of close and emerald 
 grass, seeming like velvet to the eye and foot. 
 Upon its borders a few noble and ancient willows, 
 of immense size were growing, waving their 
 light tresses in the breeze, and seeming to 
 bend and kiss the shining waters. Nearer the 
 house the lawn was disposed in flower-beds, 
 completely filled with flowers, — beautiful, rich, 
 gorgeous. 
 
 The day was extremely warm but perfectly dry, 
 and as the breeze came softly playing from the 
 river, it lifted the tendrils of the woodbine and the 
 pendent roses, and wafted softly up and down the 
 light folds of the embroidered muslin-curtains, 
 which fell in ample folds from the cornice above.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 191 
 
 and softened the effect of the splendid brocatelle 
 of which the more important curtains were com- 
 posed. 
 
 Nothing could be more perfectly beautiful^ 
 more in harmony with all that the most lively 
 imagination^ or the most delicate taste could de- 
 mand^ than the scene without. The scene within 
 w^as perhaps less in harmony with such demands. 
 And yet it was impossible not to admire. 
 
 Nothing could be well imagined more rich^ 
 more perfect in design^ more charming in disposi- 
 tion of colours, than the furnishing of this apart- 
 ment. The deep tone of the brocatelle, by its 
 subdued warmth, kept down in some degree the 
 profusion of ornamental furniture and of gilding 
 and colouring which surrounded you. For the 
 variety of chairs, sofas, causeuses, footstools, 
 was countless ; so were the tables, of rich inlaid 
 woods, and of rare beauty of design. The con- 
 soles and etageres covered with all sorts of ex- 
 pensive things, — old china, old jewels, morsels of 
 rare, curious Venice glass, and vases filled with
 
 192 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 beautiful flowers. The walls were hung with very- 
 tolerable pictures; whilst vast mirrors^ depending 
 from the ceiling to the floor, seemed to multiply 
 interminably all these fine things. 
 
 It was afternoon, and the declining sun pene- 
 trated beneath the green arches of the trellis- 
 work, and glistened upon what was one of the 
 most splendid objects in the room, namely, a A^ery 
 fine girandole, which hung from the centre, and 
 whose long graceful chains, shimmering like dew- 
 drops, glittered in the bright beams of an un- 
 clouded July day. 
 
 In this saloon, then, two ladies were sitting : 
 one with whom you have commenced an acquaint- 
 ance, the other whom I have not had the pleasure 
 of presenting before. The younger lady was, as 
 you know, tall and well formed, and her figure, 
 now fully developed and most finely formed, had 
 something of the serious majesty about it which 
 we associate with our idea of the young Minerva. 
 She was a noble creature, and there was something 
 remarkably pleasing in the simple ease and dignity
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 193 
 
 with which she stood or moved. Her fair arms 
 were of the finest proportion, her throat, rising 
 like that noble tower celebrated by King Solomon, 
 at once testifying dignity and grace, supported 
 a head of the finest contour, round which an 
 abundance of locks, of so dark a brown as almost 
 approached to black, was drawn with a sort of 
 classical plainness, and confined in a large low 
 knot behind. 
 
 The face, however, was not, and never had 
 been, what would be called beautiful. Many 
 people would not admit that it was even hand- 
 some ; the features were not of that peculiar 
 delicacy of outline which, in my opinion, very 
 often enfeebles the expression; the lines were 
 decisively drawn, — pronounced, as the French 
 would say ; but the eyes, large, dark, and lustrous, 
 were most beautifully formed, and the dark, 
 short, well-fitted eyelash, spoke of health and 
 strength, as did the clear, well-defined line of the 
 black almost horizontal eyebrow. The mouth 
 was firm, but sweet -, the skin a clear, unblemished 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE WTLMINGTONS. 
 
 olive ; the countenance and expression calm, 
 simple, and truthful. 
 
 Such was Caroline Wilmington^ now in the 
 full bloom of womanhood, as there she sat, — for 
 she did not look like one to lounge in a fauteuil, 
 or recline upon a sofa, — before a table inlaid with 
 some of the rare crimson and dark-brown w^oods 
 of Sierra Leone, and at this moment covered with 
 various cases of jewels, which now lay open, dis- 
 closing their glittering contents before her. 
 
 The other figure is the one that you have not 
 yet been introduced to. It formed a striking 
 contrast to that of the fine young creature I have 
 endeavoured to describe. This was that of a 
 small elderly lady, — another of my darling old 
 women, — fat, and all huddled together; not set 
 out and squeezed in by the magic corsets of 
 Gosselin, — as belles of sixty-five or seventy 
 ought to be, — but a sort of confused heap ; as if 
 the skeleton of the machine had given w^ay, and 
 all had tumbled together. She was clothed in an 
 unintelligible mass of black modes, nets, laces.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 1^5 
 
 and ribbands, relieved with small accompaniments 
 of white^ which white w^as w^hiter than the driven 
 snow ; and this gave a very picturesque, if not a 
 very modish appearance, to the little pyramid, 
 which was surmounted by a small, withered face, 
 w^ith oddly cut features and lively quick eyes, 
 beaming with a mingled expression of shrewdness 
 and good humour. 
 
 The old lady did not at this moment, how^ever, 
 look particularly well pleased, as she was saying, — 
 '' I really wonder at you, niece P^ 
 The old lady, I should have told you, was Mrs. 
 Vernon, Mr. Wilmington^s late wife's sister, 
 ^^ And I really do wonder at you, niece P' 
 " And w4iy should you, dear aunt ?" said Ca- 
 roline, lifting up her head from a splendid chain 
 of emeralds w^hich she w^as examining as it lay 
 nestling in its bed of white velvet before her. 
 " Why should you wonder at me, dear aunt V 
 
 " You — to be so occupied with these gew- 
 gaws P' 
 
 ^^ Dear aunt, I am only anxious to choose what 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 will be most handsome and most acceptable, 
 where I very sincerely desire to render myself 
 acceptable, — the most pleasing where I very much 
 desire to please/^ said the young lady, 
 
 " I wonder you are anxious about it. For my 
 part, I don^t think it is your business to please 
 in this case. I hope you will be pleased, that is 
 all. I am sure it is more than I am, or ever shall 
 
 be ; and then, encouraging all this taste 
 
 for ostentation and extravagance ! — If you must 
 make a present, I think you might^hit upon some- 
 thing more useful.^' 
 
 The young lady seemed to feel as if there was 
 some justice in this remark ; she mused a little 
 while, with her eyes fixed upon the jewels, then 
 she sighed slightly, and said, as if to herself, 
 " Too true !" 
 
 ^^ And yet, dear aunt,^^ she went on, '^ how could 
 I find anything useful? If I knew the thing Lizzy 
 would really want, would it not be my part to 
 remind my father of it ? In this case, a gift of 
 that kind from me would be no gift at all. If I
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 19? 
 
 want to give a keepsake it must be of something 
 which^ but for me, would not have been had; and 
 it must be something ^ rich and rare/ to show my 
 wish to be acceptable, — to show respect, dear 
 aunt, which must be the most acceptable homage 
 I can in this case offer. Then it must be some- 
 thing that will please, that she may be pleased 
 with the donor; and in short, dear aunt, I have 
 but a poor invention, and I could hit upon nothing 
 but some jewels that would answer to my idea of 
 what was best for this occasion/^ 
 
 " It is a very great waste of money, — that is all 
 I have to say," persisted Mrs. Vernon; " and in 
 my opinion it is a very wrong thing to scatter 
 money away. As for Miss Emerson — Lizzy, as 
 you please to call her — your father has taken 
 care to buy her necklaces enough, without your 
 adding to the number. I always considered 
 one handsome necklace enough for any 
 w^oman, be her condition what it might. My 
 mother — '^ 
 
 ^^ Times and fashions alter, dear aunt, you
 
 198 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 know — and wants and wishes with them," said 
 Caroline, gently. 
 
 " So much the worse, — so much the worse; 
 they don^t alter for the better, that I see. AH 
 this spending, and frippery, and finery, and non- 
 sense;— Oh! niece! niece! it was better done in 
 my dayo City families were content to live in 
 the City, where their fortunes were made. Fins- 
 bury-square was good enough for them ; and now, 
 Portland-place itself won't do, — and your father 
 must purchase that splendid palace, for I can 
 scarcely call it house, in Belgrave- square ; — all to 
 please this fine young lady, I suppose, that is 
 coming among us. Well, those may like her who 
 can — I never shall." 
 
 " Indeed, but I hope that you, and all of us, 
 will have reason to like her; — she is good-hu- 
 moured and obliging, gentle and gay — " 
 
 " Extravagant, whimsical, vain, and empty,'* 
 added Mrs. Vernon. " Oh 1 Caroline, and will 
 you welcome such a one in your mother's 
 place ?"
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 199 
 
 Caroline's colour rose, and her heart beat for 
 a moment, rapidly. 
 
 " My mother ! — Oh ! aunt, was it not my 
 mother who taught me to endeavour not to sacri- 
 fice the present to the past, be that past ever so 
 sacred, — to love mercy better than sacrifice, — 
 not to sacrifice that precious thing, the happiness 
 of another, to our own feelings, however pious, 
 however tender ? My father, by the law of God 
 and man, possesses the right to choose again, — 
 he thinks he consults his happiness in doing so ; 
 and when doing so, he has not shown himself 
 indifi'erent to my brother's and my happiness. 
 You know how handsomely, how generously he 
 has behaved to us. He brings no tyrant into his 
 house to infringe upon our household liberty; he 
 has chosen a young creature, w^ith whom it will 
 be . our own faults if w^e do not live at peace. 
 He places her at tlie head of his family, — she is 
 my father's wife, — as such I will respect, and 
 hope to love her. My mother, in my place, 
 would, I fondly believe, have acted as I shall
 
 200 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 endeavour to do; — if conscious still to the affairs 
 of this world, I believe she approves mj inten- 
 tions. I honour her best by endeavouring to 
 form myself by her precepts. Oh! mother — best 
 beloved . . . .^' 
 
 And here a few tears stole down Caroline's' 
 cheek. She wept without any convulsion of the 
 features, the large tears rolled calm and still from 
 her dark eyes. She wept as women of tempered 
 fortitude weep. 
 
 Mrs. Vernon was a very excellent woman, in 
 that form of excellence which was the result of 
 the strict but somewhat narrow education of many 
 years ago. She thought justly, but she judged 
 rigidly. She was ready to make every personal 
 sacrifice to duty herself, but she was too fond to 
 impose her own notions of duty upon others. She 
 was sympathetic and kind where she understood 
 the sentiment before her, but she was cold and 
 almost pitiless to sorrow of which she could not 
 appreciate the cause ; and what she could not un- 
 derstand was sure to appear to her unreasonable*
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 201 
 
 She was enthusiastic in her love of the excellence 
 which she comprehended; but some of the finer 
 forms of excellence she did not comprehend. 
 Then she had not a shadow of indulgence for the 
 frailties of our nature. Everything took a positive 
 form with her, for good or for bad. She had not 
 breadth of understanding sufficient to take in the 
 whole of a matter, and strike the balance of equity 
 between contending qualities. 
 
 Caroline, as you already know, was of a totally 
 different cast of character; her understanding, 
 originally so strong and clear, was now greatly im- 
 proved and enlarged by self-cultivation ; her high, 
 generous nature could take a widely-extended view 
 of things ; and the indulgence and candour of her 
 temper softened in the most beautiful manner the 
 clear decided views taken by this fine young 
 creature. 
 
 She had read and thought much — for her sex, 
 it might be said deeply — and she had come to her 
 own conclusions and arrived at very strong convic- 
 tions upon most subjects. But this never inter-
 
 202 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 fered with her indulgent judgment of others : she 
 respected in them the freedom which she exercised 
 herself. In religion more especially this precious 
 quality of candour was most especially to be ob- 
 served. Her own views upon this most momen- 
 tous subject were deeply earnest, and her convic- 
 tions of the truth of such views strong ; yet she 
 held in the highest reverence the sincere convic- 
 tions of others. Perhaps never were the Christian 
 virtues of vital persuasion on the one hand, and 
 respect for Christian sincerity of opinion on the 
 other, united in a more beautiful manner. She 
 respected in others that thirst after truth which 
 had resulted in such deep persuasions as regarded 
 herself. 
 
 I have been particular rather in detailing the 
 mainspring of this young lady^s character — this 
 love and reverence for sincerity and truth — that 
 strong sense of vital religion which thence had 
 arisen; for this once well understood, the rest 
 followed of course : — affections calm though strong 
 — earnest persuasions — temperate judgments — de-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 203 
 
 votion to right — and a tranquil indifference to the 
 glare and bustle of that life by which she was 
 surrounded. 
 
 But the necklace is still in her hand ; the door 
 opens, and Mr. Wilmington enters the room. 
 
 He is looking younger and handsomer than ever; 
 his tall, slight, elegant figure is set oif by dress even 
 more than usually gay; his brown hair is arranged 
 as might become a man of five-and-twenty, and 
 which, but for certain fine lines about the mouth 
 and brow, he really might pass himself off to be. 
 For the rest, he looked much as when we left him 
 last, and that is, anything but an indisputable gen- 
 tleman : a certain French look — a Count look — a 
 flashy look — they are more unpleasing than ever, 
 now he was in high spirits, and acting the part of 
 young lover and quondam bridegroom. His hands 
 just. at present are filled, however, with papers and 
 letters, and he seems very much pressed for 
 time. 
 
 " How do, Caroline ? Ha ! Mrs. Vernon, how 
 do ? — Fine morning. Caroline, here are letters
 
 204 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 you must write to your brother for me. This 
 cursed business in Wales ! — tell him I wish he 
 would arrange all that as fast as he can, and come 
 home. I want him deucedly, tell him — he will un- 
 derstand. Do it by this day^s post. — That's my 
 good girl/' 
 
 '^ I will write immediately." 
 
 " No, not immediately. The phaeton is at the 
 door, and I will drive you to Templeton this fine 
 morning. I want to show Lizzy her new phaeton ; 
 I am sure she will like it. Houlditch has sur- 
 passed himself; you never saw a turn-out in such 
 capital style in your life. Come, on with your 
 bonnet — we have no time to lose. There, let me 
 put all these things into your desk — I shan't go 
 into the city to-day. Ha! what have we got 
 here ?" 
 
 ^^ Do you like it ?" said Caroline, displaying her 
 necklace. 
 
 "Very handsome, upon my honour — Grey's? 
 Excellent taste — what I call really handsome. 
 Emeralds, of course ?"
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 205 
 
 " Yes. I am glad you like it/' 
 
 ^^ Have you bought it, you extravagant bag- 
 gage r' 
 
 *' I thought Miss Emerson would like it.'' 
 
 ^^Is it for her? Dear Caroline/' — and he 
 stooped and kissed her cheek, and patted it with 
 much kindness ; — " Dear, good girl, you could not 
 have given me greater pleasure." 
 
 Caroline looked gratified. Mrs. Vernon folded 
 her black mode cloak round her. 
 
 '^ Good bye, Caroline." 
 
 ''Don't go away so soon, dear aunt; we shall 
 be back again in less than an hour. It is but a 
 step to Templeton. Won't you stay dinner ? 
 Do, dear aunt ; I have the flower-garden to show 
 you, — the new bed of verbenas. You must have 
 one like it ; it is beautiful. Here is the last new 
 novel. Put yourself in the corner of the sofa. 
 Here is your footstool. Do stay." 
 
 "Caroline," said Mrs. Vernon, half angrily, 
 '^ you would persuade one to anything." 
 
 But she suffered her niece to take off her bonnet
 
 206 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 and cloak^ and to ensconce her in her favourite 
 place, where she sat upright — for to lean back was 
 against her principles — and taking her book, she 
 put on her spectacles. 
 
 It was truly a splendid afternoon, and as the 
 wind lifted the muslin curtains which hung over 
 the windows, a glorious prospect presented itself. 
 The woody banks and hills of Surrey; the Thames 
 winding silvery through; the shrubberies, temples, 
 fountains, and conservatories of Mr. Wilmington^s 
 large gardens ; the dashing fall of waters ; the 
 singing and lisping of birds ; the soft whispering 
 breeze ; the sun glittering and glowing upon them 
 all. It was truly charming. 
 
 Caroline rang for her bonnet and cloak, whilst 
 Mr. Wilmington employed himself in opening and 
 examining one of those formidable compositions, 
 consisting of a quire almost, of paper, neatly ruled.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 20j 
 
 and lined, and penned (I wish every one wrote as 
 legibly) 5 with — 
 
 " To a Buhl cabinet, richly inlaid with gold, and 
 mother-of-pearl, handles, elegantly chased, antique 
 mountings, &c. ;" 
 
 " To yards rich gold and purple brocatelle 
 
 damask for curtains, &c. ;" 
 
 ^' To making the same •" 
 
 ^^ To yards rich imperial silk, figured, with 
 
 embossed heading, &c. &c. ;^^ 
 
 Till, turning the pages impatiently over, he came 
 
 to the final sentence, 5,999/. \Ss. l\\d. 
 
 " Five thousand pounds V^ muttered he ; '^ what 
 an unconscionable rascal ! — a deuced heavy bill ! 
 Here, Carry," folding it hastily up, and stuffing 
 it into the drawer of her writing-table, " FU look 
 the items over some other time." 
 
 Caroline had not heard the amount of the bill 
 thus easily disposed of. She was attending to 
 Mrs. Vernon. 
 
 " I have been thinking,^' began Mr. Wilmington, 
 after a few moments' reflection^ "that, after all.
 
 208 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 the back bed-room in Belgrave-square will be the 
 quietest and most convenient for us. But it is too 
 small — as impossible to make oneself comfortable 
 in such a nutshell as it is to endure the noise of 
 the square. A large bow might be thrown out on 
 the side to the leads. I don't wish to go to the 
 expense of carrying it up all the way. I have an 
 idea that it might be supported on pillars.^^ 
 
 "That would darken the back dining-room/' 
 said Mrs. Vernon, rather gruffly. 
 
 "True. I suppose it must be carried up. I 
 wish I had thought of this before we furnished ; but 
 it don't very much matter ; the back dining-room 
 will be enlarged and improved." 
 
 ^^ I should think it was large enough already for 
 any reasonable creature/' observed the old lady in 
 the same tone. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Vernon/' flying to her, "you 
 cannot possibly judge of the necessities of these 
 things /' with an insinuating smile. " You, 
 dearest madam, endowed with so much pliilosophic 
 contentment, and who can find nothing to wish in
 
 THE WILMINGTONS.^ 209 
 
 your delicious retirement, can form no idea, I 
 assure you, of the requirements which weigh upon 
 us poor labourers in the great world. The thousand 
 obligations, the necessities entailed by convention. 
 I declare, I often envy the gardener's boy, with his 
 five shillings a-week, whistling at his work. He is 
 rich, — enviable — for he has enough; whilst we, 
 with the innumerable claims upon us — the count- 
 less demands of our station and place! The 
 mines of Golconda could scarcely make us feel 
 rich !" 
 
 ^•' So it seems,'' said the unmollified old 
 lady. 
 
 " But, my dear madam, you should consider all 
 this in judging of us poor strugglers in the tide of 
 fashion. You cannot, blest as you are in happy 
 immunity from such things — it cannot enter into 
 your, head — your imagination '^ 
 
 " I don't want it to enter either into my head 
 or my imagination — which, I suppose, is much 
 the same thing. I have no taste for these habits 
 of extravagant luxury, and am in no danger oi 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 acquiring them. I wish as much could be said 
 for Caroline/^ 
 
 " For Caroline — ha ! ha ! what ! for my ascetic — 
 my Caroline — my unjewelled Roman virgin ? You 
 know she is a reproof to me every day.'^ 
 
 '^ I don't think she has been a reproof to-day — 
 at least, she seems to me quite to have entered 
 into the spirit of the place and company/^ 
 
 " Do you mean about the emerald chain ?" said 
 he, with a voice of some emotion. " No, Mrs. 
 Vernon, you do her injustice there — If it be her 
 misfortune to have a father perhaps a little too 
 fond of these things, do not blame my Caroline, 
 that at a moment like this, she studies to gratify 
 his taste rather than her own." 
 
 " Well, w^ell ; I have done,'' said Mrs. Vernon, 
 settling herself on the sofa, and opening her 
 book. 
 
 The phaeton was announced, and the father and 
 daughter descended. It was a most elegant affair, 
 and a pair of beautiful horses in it ; two grooms, 
 complete as grooms could be, mounted on horses
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 211 
 
 a perfect match to those in the carriage, were in 
 attendance. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington took the reins; Caroline placed 
 herself by his side. He was no bad whip ; and 
 away they drove. 
 
 At Templeton lived Miss Emerson, the bride 
 elect — with whom I have already made you in 
 some degree acquainted. She was the daughter 
 of a merchant, who lived in considerable wealth 
 and comfort at this place, but who certainly could 
 not vie in expenditure or display with Mr. Wil- 
 mington. She had been educated at the same 
 school with Caroline and Flavia, and was well 
 acquainted with them both. She was esteemed to 
 be a highly accomplished person in the circle in 
 which she moved; and certainly she played as 
 well as a person without the least taste or feeling 
 can play — danced only too well — painted flowers 
 and butterflies — and dressed to perfection. She 
 was in other respects like other empty, ill 
 educated, dressy girls — very good-humoured when 
 she was pleased, very good-natured when it cost 
 
 p 2
 
 212 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 her nothing; neither envious nor jealous when 
 she held the first place ; and though she ran long 
 bills, which she knew not how to pay, would not 
 have wronged people in any other way. She was 
 tall, slender, fair, with very handsome features, 
 fine blue eyes, abundance of hair, and, in short, 
 as nearly the double of Mr. Wilmington as well 
 could be. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington, in spite of his years, was con- 
 sidered a great catch among the young ladies of 
 her acquaintance, it would seem ; and Miss 
 Emerson was extremely well satisfied with her 
 conquest. 
 
 The fair lady was at her pianoforte when the 
 phaeton stopped at the door — the clear, brilliant 
 vibrations of which were heard through the open 
 window. She rose from her seat as Mr. Wilming- 
 ton and his daughter entered the room, and 
 running to her " dear friend — her sweet Caroline,^^ 
 embraced her with all the tenderness which step- 
 mothers elect are wont to show to their future 
 bridegroom's children. Then, recovering herself,
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 213 
 
 with a sweet bashfulness, she favoured her lover 
 with a half blushing, half tender salutation, and 
 sat down upon the sofa, still holding her dear 
 friend's hand in hers. 
 
 '^ Sweet Caroline ! — So good of you to come to 
 see me — and in this scorching sun, too — So sweet 
 and friendly ! How did you come V 
 
 " I drove her across in the phaeton which 
 Houlditch has just sent in,'' said Mr. Wilming- 
 ton ; " I thought you might perhaps like to see 
 it. The colour seems to me a thought too light. 
 Would you indulge me by casting an eye upon 
 it? — Your taste is so just." 
 
 ^^ Did you order it to be dark-green ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is our colour." 
 
 '' And the arms ? — I hate a tawdry mantle like 
 a horse-cloth." 
 
 " Then you will be pleased. The coat of arms is 
 very neatly painted on the simple shield." 
 
 "Oh, that won't do at all — nothing but the 
 
 crest. I assure you Lady Maria E called in 
 
 her phaeton yesterday, and there was nothing on
 
 214 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 the panel hut the crest. I believe it is considered 
 quite Amlgar to load a light affair like this with 
 anything more than one's crest.'^ 
 " Would you like it altered V 
 ^' Oh^ by no manner of means, as the thing is 
 done. Pray, don^t let me be the occasion of any 
 trouble about it. I merely gave my opinion ; — 
 the matter is quite a trifle.'^ 
 
 " No trifle, if it is less pleasing to you.'^ 
 " Oh, thank you ; I own I like to have things 
 in good taste — that is as other people of taste have 
 them ; and I have a horror of finery (pressing to 
 her lips a French embroidered handkerchief, 
 trimmed with broad Valenciennes, of about 350 
 francs the yard), — have not you, Caroline P 
 
 ^^ I think carriages always look better plain,'^ 
 said the future daughter-in-law. 
 
 '' But, Caroline ; here is charming intelligence — 
 Flavia comes to town, after all, this year. She is to be 
 with the old Duchess. Now, is not this odd? the 
 Duchess is an old fogie, we all know, and scarcely 
 evergoes out, and shehas asked Flavia to cometoher.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 215 
 
 I don't know what the poor little creature will do 
 in that big house ; she will be like a httle avodevat 
 in a parrot's cage^ quite lost in that vast lumbering 
 place; but I suppose the Duchess may have 
 designs. There is her grandson Lord George ; — 
 all his family are in Paris you know, but he is in 
 town — the Guards^ you know. Oh ! he is a dear 
 wicked creature : he has been^ they say (whisper- 
 ing) such a sad rake — spent such loads of money 
 — quite irresistible^ everybody says ; but such 
 stories of his extravagance ! 1^11 tell you all, some 
 day. However, a match with the Welsh heiress 
 would set all right.'^ 
 
 ^^ But I hope dear little Flavia won't marry 
 Lord George, if he is so horrid/' said Caroline. 
 
 '^ Oh, quite dreadful !" still in an under-tone; 
 ^'but so divinely handsome — such a look — that 
 look which I prefer to all others — that of a com- 
 plete man of the world However, 
 
 Flavia is certainly coming, and I shall be so glad 
 to have her." 
 
 " And when she comes," said Mr. Wilmington,
 
 216 THE WILMTNGTONS. 
 
 putting on his most insinuating smile, '^ that will 
 prove, I hope, a favourable circumstance for me. 
 I shall then urge my suit effectually for the fixing 
 of the day that is to make me the happiest of 
 men, I trust. When does she come V 
 
 ^^The 10th of this month, I believe.'' 
 
 " Then the week after — say the 16th — Tuesday. 
 May I call that the happiest day of my life V 
 
 " Tiresome man ! How teasing you horrid 
 creatures are,'' &c. &c. 
 
 Poor Caroline! this courting before her — her 
 father's last sentence ! But she had learned, as all 
 who love peace, and are destined to live with those 
 of less delicacy of feeling than themselves, must 
 learn, to take no offence when none was intended, 
 and to harden themselves against random blows in 
 the dark ; — so she sat quietly whilst Miss Emer- 
 son hesitated and resisted, and Mr. Wilmington 
 urged and flattered. At last, her father rose to 
 depart, having gained his point j and now hurried 
 and anxious, lest the fine house he had taken in 
 Belgrave-square should not be perfectly ready to
 
 THE WILMINGTON'S. 21? 
 
 receive the superfine young lady who was to be 
 its mistress; and whilst he worried himself to 
 death about it, Caroline leaned back in the car- 
 riage, feeling it more difficult to be reasonable, 
 than ever she had done in her life.
 
 218 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Pray only, that thy aching heart, 
 From visions vain content to part, 
 Strong for Love's sake, its woe to hide, 
 May cheerful wait the Cross beside. 
 
 Keble, 
 
 The house in Belgrave-square — thanks to the 
 exertions of the different artists employed^ was 
 ready upon the 16th. Thanks also^it maybe said, 
 to the unwearied exertions of Mr. Wilmington. 
 How much the patience of Caroline had been 
 tried by consultations upon the various claims of 
 lavender and crimson — azure blue and pearl, 
 between white and gold — oak and gold — or gold
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 219 
 
 alone, — size of mirrors and claws of tables, it 
 would try your patience to describe. The weari- 
 some, endless fretting of the flesh that it proved 
 to Mr. Wilmington — the burden all these weighty 
 matters were to his feeble soul, I shall not attempt 
 to say. 
 
 " Time and the hour runs through the roughest 
 day,'^ and time and the hour brings us the 15th, 
 and upon the 15th there sat Caroline in the large 
 drawing-room in Belgrave-square, exhausted by 
 wearisome exertions — sick of gilding, satin, and 
 ormolu — refreshing herself by inhaling the fresh 
 air which blew through a large conservatory, just 
 filled with fresh and fragrant flowers. 
 
 Caroline had just been inspecting and directing 
 the men who had arranged them, after having 
 inspected and directed a thousand other matters 
 — her dress disordered, her hair deranged from its 
 usual neatness, her hands yet covered with the 
 gloves soiled by her work, — for even the rich and 
 great cannot escape such labour altogether, when 
 things are to be very fine — she looked heated, and
 
 220 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 she felt sick at heart, dissatisfied with herself 
 and every one. All this hurry, this pomp, this 
 ostentatious display — it was almost hateful to 
 her. 
 
 Thus she sat, her head leaning against the con- 
 servatory door, when she was refreshed by the 
 presence of one whom she loved with a tender- 
 ness more than common to the tender relationship 
 which united them — her beloved brother Henry 
 entered. 
 
 Henry has not improved in appearance since 
 we parted with him. Cares, which do not pro- 
 perly belong to so early an age — an anxious at- 
 tendance upon business — the life of the counting- 
 house which he, from the highest principles as 
 we know, had long since adopted, had increased 
 the shyness and reserve of his manners, and added 
 to the homeliness of his mien and features ; yet 
 such as he w^as, Caroline loved him almost to 
 adoration. 
 
 Some years younger than herself — from a child 
 of a more sensitive and timid nature, we have
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 221 
 
 seen that something of the tender protection of a 
 mother had been added to a sister^s fondness. 
 Every year's experience had added to her high 
 appreciation of his worth, and to her interest in 
 his fate. She had long understood the sacrifice 
 of happiness which had been made_, in consequence 
 of the vain and feeble character of the father; 
 and with grief, beheld the ravages made in the 
 gay spirit, which ought to belong to youth, by 
 anxieties which ought never to have clouded 
 them. The carelessness and extravagance of the 
 father had gone on increasing since the death of 
 his wife. He had attempted to assume the cha- 
 racter of a young disengaged man of fashion, and 
 spared neither pains or expense in fitting out the 
 outline, as he conceived, of it. Whilst Henry, 
 early conscious that everything depended upon 
 his care, devoted himself to business, and laboured 
 indefatigably, by his care and industry, to avert 
 the consequences of his rashness and imprudence, 
 and manage with prudence and success those 
 innumerable speculations by which his father
 
 222 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 proposed to supply his insatiable demands for 
 money. 
 
 But the task was as ungrateful and disheartening 
 as it was wearisome; for Mr. Wilmington, though he 
 invariably flew to his son for advice and assistance 
 when any one of his rash speculations failed, and 
 invariably relied upon his spirit and perseverance 
 to disentangle him from its evil consequences, 
 was as invariably deaf to every argument his son 
 could urge at the outset to prevent his engaging 
 in these wild schemes. Nothing could be more 
 disheartening than such a situation. The labour 
 of the Danaides is light to it. 
 
 Harry had the virtue to persevere; but his 
 spirits sank under it, though his resolution was 
 unflinching. This his sister saw, and well under- 
 stood; she adored him with that holy adora- 
 tion which is to be won, and won alone by moral 
 excellence. 
 
 Harry loved Caroline as one of extreme sensi- 
 bility," with the consciousness of his own worth, 
 and of the slight value attached to it by men in
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 223 
 
 general, loves one whom he feels understands and 
 estimates him, and whose esteem and aflfection is 
 the sweet and almost sole earthly recompense of his 
 labours. This affection was still shared, however, 
 by his friend. The mutual affection between him 
 and Selwyn had ripened into a strong and perma- 
 nent friendships and, unsuspected by all but 
 Caroline, his long despairing passion still filled in 
 secret his heart. 
 
 He came in and sat down by Caroline, and his 
 eyes were clouded by so tender a melancholy, 
 his homely features filled with so gentle an ex- 
 pression, that his sister thought him more than 
 beautiful as she looked at him. 
 
 " My dear Harry, how did you find him ? " 
 
 '' Very, very ill, poor fellow ! His cough, he 
 tells me, was incessant last night. He looks 
 wretchedly. Madeira has done nothing for 
 him.^^ 
 
 " Poor Selwyn ! How sad ! And how grievous 
 for poor Mr. Craiglethorpe. Has any one written 
 to him ? ''
 
 224 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 "My father wrote when Selwyn returned, to 
 tell him frankly what he thought of him. He 
 sent the letter overland. Mr. Craiglethorpe must 
 have received it by this time ; and I doubt not 
 will return if he can. Too late ! Selwyn will 
 never live to see him.'^ 
 
 " I am very sorry for you all.'^ 
 
 " And for yourself, Caroline ?" 
 
 " I grieve, grieve deeply, that you should lose 
 such a friend, Harry .^^ 
 
 "And nothing more?^^ sitting down by her 
 and taking her hand. " Nothing more }'' 
 
 " I don't know how it happens, Harry, but I 
 believe I am grov/n old before my time/' 
 
 " Well, my dear," with a sigh, " as things turn 
 out, perhaps it is better. I am very absurd to 
 wish ; and yet, poor dear fellow, I think he would 
 die happier if he could flatter himself .... but 
 it is better as it is." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed it is, dear Harry. I own to 
 you, — for, dear brother, you have all my confidence. 
 — I sometimes wish I were less insensible myself ^
 
 THE WILMINGTOXS. 225 
 
 but I do not know well why all the spring of 
 youth and hope seems withered within me. I 
 appear to go on quietly, and not unhappily ; for I 
 do not seem ever to imagine happiness. I do not 
 imagine there is such a thing as great happiness 
 to be found in this world. I am too rational, I 
 sometimes think,^^ and she sighed. "But, Harry ,^' 
 recovering herself, " I hope you will be less 
 rational than I am, that I may doat upon your 
 wife and children.^' 
 
 He started as if something had pricked him 
 sharply. He turned his head away. 
 
 '^ My wife and children ! No, no, never, 
 never I^^ Then, looking at her again with his 
 sweet melancholy eyes, ^^ Dear Carry, we will live 
 for one another." 
 
 The entrance of a servant interrupted the con- 
 versation. It was, upon his exit, renewed in a 
 somewhat different tone. 
 
 " You have completed your preparations, I 
 see.^^ 
 
 "Yes, and you see how weary I am; but I 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 believe everything is right at last. I confess I 
 should be sorry to'spend many such days as this 
 day; but I think every order has been given. 
 The breakfast — for my father thinks we must 
 have a previous breakfast here before going to 
 church — has been set out in the dining-room ; and 
 Gunter has done it very well/^ And she sighed 
 again. 
 
 Poor Caroline ! every sentence this evening 
 ends with a sigh ; she felt much depressed. 
 
 ^^ A breakfast at the bridegroom^s house ; that 
 seems contrary to the usual custom^ and unne- 
 cessary.^^ 
 
 " My father likes to have it so. He wishes his 
 friends to assemble here first — I would not con- 
 tradict him.*^ 
 
 A short silence. Then Henry began again. 
 
 ^^ These rooms are really splendid/^ he said, 
 looking round. " I am not very much given to 
 observing these sort of things, but really these 
 pink and crimson curtains, these mirrors, these 
 pictures, altogether it has a magnificent effect:
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 227 
 
 my father lias certainly a great deal of taste in 
 these things — everything so completely and hand- 
 somely done/^ 
 
 ^^ It makes our poor dear aunt very angry/* 
 
 *^ Perhaps she is scarcely right there. I cannot 
 quite make up my mind upon the sul^ject — it is 
 after all relative — to spend is a sort of duty/^ He 
 never could bear to hear his father blamed by 
 others. 
 
 '^ I believe she has a notion, that great luxury, 
 however large a man's fortune may be, is in itself 
 rather wrong. She has a vague idea — for you 
 know she is no great analyzer of her ideas — that 
 it has a positively corrupting effect upon the 
 heart. I cannot help thinking myself that there 
 is a foundation of truth in what she says.^^ 
 
 '^ I do not know whether luxury corrupts, but 
 I think it enfeebles ; and I feel sure that it em- 
 barrasses the mind. I inherit, I suppose, the 
 inclination from my mother, who had such an 
 innate love of simplicity — but luxury is not pleasant 
 to me — it seems so to increase the luggage of 
 
 q2
 
 228 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 life, as to impede the march. "When you and I 
 live together, Caroline, we shall not want all these 
 things, shall we ?" 
 
 " No/' 
 
 "We will have almost a cottage, and your 
 books — and a John, and a Mary. But here comes 
 my father/' 
 
 Enter Mr. Wilmington, looking vexed and 
 hurried, and his fine hair in disorder ; his colour 
 heightened, a mixture of embarrassment and 
 anger on his face. 
 
 " Henry ! Is Henry here ? Oh, Henry ! upon 
 my soul, the impudence of these fellows ! Caroline, 
 did you leave the bill-drawer at Roehampton ?" 
 
 "Yes; I did not think we would require it till 
 we went back. I can get anything you want 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 "Do go down stairs, there's a good girl. 
 Burton wants to speak to me ; see w^hat it's all 
 
 about No use plaguing her about these things," 
 
 following her, and shutting the door. " You see, 
 Henry, this is really a very disagreeable business.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 229 
 
 — Kerens Formby asking for his money, — seven 
 thousand pounds, or to that tune, — for furniture 
 sent in this last two years. Now really, I am 
 afraid just at this moment we shan't find that 
 sum to our credit at Kinglake's.'' 
 
 Henry looked surprised. 
 
 '^ I understood you, sir, that all the bills had 
 been paid last Christmas.'^ 
 
 " All but a few trifling ones, Hal. When you 
 and I made up our budget for the year, I got 
 together enough to liquidate all, as I thought; 
 but these cursed upholsterers' bills do mount 
 up so confoundedly. Will you, there's a good 
 lad — he must be paid — go down into the City 
 as soon as I am off to-morrow, and sell my 
 fifty T. and T. shares, they will more than do 
 it, at two hundred and twenty — stay, lend me 
 a scrip of paper. Six thousand pounds! Plague 
 on it ! — well, take the Grand Junction ; take 
 enough, that's all ; and just step down and tell 
 the fellow he shall have his money to-morrow, 
 and bid him never expect to do a job in this
 
 23.0 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 house again, as long as he lives — an impudent 
 scoundrel V' 
 
 Harry looked grave. Mr. Wilmington whistled, 
 went to the window^ and employed himself in 
 arranging the folds of one of his rich silk curtains 
 — then — 
 
 " Well— how's poor Selwyn?^^ 
 
 ^^ Worse, sir, I am afraid.^/ 
 
 " Poor fellow ! — d d unlucky ! Would have 
 
 been a pretty match for Caroline. Poor old 
 Craigie ! — it will go nigh to break his heart ! '' 
 
 Henry was looking over some papers which 
 Mr. Wilmington had thrown upon the table. 
 
 " Hamlet^s, sir, I see." 
 
 " Aye, — aye, — aye," stammering a little : " only 
 a few wedding presents for Lizz}^ She^s a little 
 too fond, perhaps, of these things. Thel ast time 
 — for once in a way. I shall not think of looking 
 at that account till Christmas two years. These 
 
 d d fellows, with their consummate exorbitant 
 
 charges, may wait two years for their money, in 
 all conscience."
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 2S1 
 
 "Anderson, sir.'^ 
 
 " What the deuce ! are all the fellows be- 
 witched ? Hewson put all these into my hands 
 as I came up stairs/' 
 
 ^^ Five hundred guineas for the bays. Reallj'-, 
 my dear father, excuse me, but I do wish I 
 might see a little after your bargains in horse- 
 flesh/' 
 
 "And wh}^, in the name of goodness? — you of 
 all people ! I should think I was at least as good 
 a judge of a horse as you, Master Harry. What 
 should you know about it, — with two sober tits, 
 one for yourself and one for your servant, and as 
 ordinary a thing as ever I looked on for your cab. 
 But you lads are so conceited ! I assure you the 
 horses are well worth the money." 
 
 " Well, sir, but how do you propose to pay 
 all these demands ?'' 
 
 " Propose ! — nonsense ! — m.ere trifles to a man 
 of my fortune ! I'll tell you what, Harry,— if 
 you don't take care, you will grow monstrously 
 like a curmudgeon. Pay ! — pay ! — pay ! I sup-
 
 232 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 pose there's enough^ if I chose to fork it out, to 
 pay a hundred such rascally tradesmen/' 
 
 Harry was again silent. Soon afterv/ards Caro- 
 line reappeared, upon which he folded up the 
 papers quietly, put them into his pocket, and left 
 the room. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington remained busied in examin- 
 ing every detail of his fine apartments, — touch- 
 ing chairs, looking at china, and again giving the 
 last finish to the folds of his ample window-cur- 
 tains ; then stepping up to his daughter, with a 
 countenance from which every shade of anxiety 
 had disappeared, — 
 
 " Really, Caroline, take it altogether, I think it's 
 the completest thing in London. But now let 
 us sit down and arrange the programme of to- 
 morrow. — Stay, lend me your pencil. My friends 
 and your friends assemble here, a little before nine 
 o'clock. A standing breakfast is arranged for 
 them in the dining-room ; a little gossiping, and 
 all that;-^one must stand a little raillery, you 
 know, upon such occasions !" with a smile of
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 233 
 
 gratified vanity as he glanced at the reflection 
 of his fine person and features in a mirror which 
 hung from ceiUng to floor just opposite. " One 
 cannot help it if one does look a little too young 1" 
 passing his hand through his fine brov.n hair^ in 
 which not one silver thread was discernible. " I 
 don't know how it is, old Time seems to have 
 forgotten me, egad ! But he'll make me pay 
 double scores at one of his times, I suppose. 
 Heigho ! — Well, as I was saying, then to church. 
 My carriage, — you will go with me in my car- 
 riage, dear Caroline, — I know you will !" with a 
 feeling in his tone which he never was known to 
 exhibit except when he addressed his daughter, 
 " you will go in my carriage with me, dear girl, 
 won't you ?" 
 
 " Indeed I will." 
 
 "Thank you. Then comes Jones's carriage. 
 He'll bring Henry, with those two strapping 
 daughters of his, — gladly enough, I'll be bound. 
 Jones, though he makes such a parade of his 
 substance, — an ostentatious old prig ! — Jones will
 
 234 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 be glad enough to take Henry in that substan- 
 tial brown barouche of his ; looking, for all the 
 worlds like the coach of a city knight in Whitting- 
 ton's days, —a city knight ! — worth a plum— 
 Ha ! ha ! — a century ago. That pondrous old 
 waggon — all chocolate-colour and gilding. He^ll 
 be glad enough to take Harry, I say. Poor Hal! 
 he'll be rather of the substantial himself in a 
 year or two, I fear, and that's a pity. Moreover, 
 I don't think he takes to Miss Eliza Jones. — 
 Heigho ! Well, after Jones has lumbered off, 
 comes Estcourt. A very different sort of gentle- 
 man : — fine as a fox and sharp as a needle, and 
 close as a miser's strong box. He'll be in his 
 neat chariot ; — he likes things neat and plain ; 
 detests ostentation, — glancing at me, perhaps. 
 Poor wretch ! always hesitating between fear of 
 spending and ambition to spend. Aye, Caroline, 
 is that him ?" 
 
 ^^ Indeed, sir, you are a little hard upon your 
 old friends." 
 
 " Friends ! — Hang them ! I wonder where they
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 235 
 
 would be now if I had never been their friend. 
 However, let that pass. Who comes next ? Oh ! 
 your worthy aunt. Bless my soul ! I had nearly 
 forgotten her ; we must bring her in before Jones, 
 in her queer old-fashioned tub ; — but Jones won^t 
 rehsh that, he likes to take the lead as well as any 
 of us.^^ 
 
 '^ My aunt ! I believe, my dear father, she 
 does not mean to be there.'' 
 
 " Nay, nay; she won't refuse me her company 
 to church, — it would be unkind. It would look so 
 unkind, — besides, what would people say ? Stse, 
 tse — so late,'' looking at his watch ; — " too late to 
 send and do anything. Why did you not tell me 
 this before? Did she really say she would not 
 come r'^ 
 
 " I was so certain, my dear sir, that she would 
 not yield to any persuasions, that I thought it 
 better to spare you both the mutual pain of using 
 or resisting them.'^ 
 
 " She is an obstinate old woman, — so full of
 
 236 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 her own b3'-gone notions ; never can yield an iota 
 to the wishes or judgment of anybody. Always 
 waS;, and always will be the same, to the end of 
 the chapter.'^ 
 
 Caroline was silent. 
 
 ^^ Why, isn't she ? Doesn't she seem to take a 
 pleasure in provoking me ? No opinion of my 
 judgment ; will not yield in the minutest article 
 to any of us." 
 
 ^' When shall I order coifee to be sent up?" 
 
 ^^ When ? at three quarters, two minutes, six 
 seconds past eight, precisely. — Not a drop — what 
 o'clock ? What can you be thinking of ? Order 
 coffee and chocolate to be brought up and handed 
 round as people come in. It is to be a standing 
 breakfast, — pray observe, Caroline, — anything else 
 would be grossly improper, under the circum- 
 stances: — the breakfast is always given at the 
 bride's father's house. I hope you clearly under- 
 stand this, Caroline, — and do take care to make 
 my people clearly understand it — a table laid out
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 23? 
 
 with fruits, cold meats, &c., &c., — what you please, 
 but nothing hot, — I wouldn^t, for the world; 
 chocolate, coffee, rolls, and bread and butter, 
 handed round. I thought I had made this clearly- 
 understood; but really unless I look to the mi- 
 nutest particulars myself, I can never depend 
 upon things being as they should be. Good 
 heavens ! I would not have anything else — 
 anything but a standing breakfast — for the 
 world.^' 
 
 " I clearly understood you so, my dear sir; 
 and so did Brandon and Hewson; pray don't 
 make yourself uneasy.^' 
 
 *' Not make myself uneasy !" — in a fretful tone 
 — " that^s easily said. It would make Job him- 
 self uneasy. Something is certain always to go 
 wrong in my house. Would you believe it, we 
 were within an ace of not having the new liveriesr 
 What do you say to that? The stupid fellow 
 swears Brandon said for the 1 7th ; Brandon swears, 
 till he is black in the face, he said 16th. If he
 
 238 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 had taken the precaution of saying 15th .... In 
 matters of importance always be a day before 
 hand/^ he added^ with grave earnestness; "it is 
 one of the best pieces of advice I, as a parent, can 
 give you/^
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 239 
 
 CHA.PTER III. 
 
 His friends were invited to come and make merry with him, 
 and this was to be the wedding-feast. — L'Estrange. 
 
 Bright shone the sun upon the auspicious 
 morning, glittering upon the array of freestone 
 palaces in Belgrave- square, bathing with his 
 early beams their lofty porticoes and windows 
 wide and high, and their awful entrance-doors. 
 The sound of carriages rattling at an unwonted 
 hour is heard^ and the cries of footmen and 
 coachmen^ added to the din of the many-headed
 
 240 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 multitude^ assembled to enjoy the sight of 
 magnificence, filled the air. A sweet summer 
 morning it was; the trees in the centre garden 
 waved green and refreshing to the breeze ; the 
 sparrows chirped merrily about ; blue was the 
 azure vault above. The eye of heaven looked 
 serenely down upon this little corner of the bust- 
 ling ant-hill ; this gaudy, glittering crowd of tiny 
 atomies, running to and fro in their gilded coaches, 
 — serene, still, sublimely, calmly beautiful: and 
 serene, still, sublimely and calmly beautiful, so, I 
 might say, looked Caroline that morning, — only 
 that I will not dishonour her simplicity by terms 
 that might seem affected or exaggerated. Her 
 looks displayed that sole earthly beauty upon 
 which we may believe the Eye of heaven looks down 
 with complacency, — the beauty radiating from* the 
 pure well-ruled spirit within, from a lofty soul, 
 and a true and constant heart. 
 
 She looked, however, very pale; and the fine 
 features round which her dark hair was braided, 
 wore an air even more than usually still. Her
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 241 
 
 eyes, so full of that deep expression which gives 
 evidence l)oth of thought and feehng, seemed now 
 more deeply beautiful than ever, as she moved 
 about among her guests with a tranquil gravity 
 that was almost majestic. Yet Caroline thought 
 nothing of all this ; she was perfectly and entirel)^ 
 unaffected. Her demeanour this morning was but 
 the simple effect of w'hat had been going on within 
 for the last few hours, — of the earnest struggles 
 against the pain which no child can help feeling 
 upon such an occasion. 
 
 She had been struggling hard with herself 
 to overcome this, and at least to obtain com- 
 posure. When her father, in conformity with 
 the privileges with which he was invested by the 
 laws of God and man, was about to seek hap- 
 piness in another choice, Caroline was not one 
 to yield weakly to lamentations over the past, or 
 as weakly and less innocently to bewail, far less 
 blame, the means her father chose to adopt to 
 repair his loss. To feel, is human ; candidly to 
 consider, divine. Caroline could not help feeling 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 many things acutely; but she struggled to be 
 equitable and just. 
 
 Harry was already in the dining-room when she 
 came down, where were present assembled Mr, 
 Wilmington and a few gentlemen, all standing. 
 Harry leaned against the back of a chair : he was 
 dressed with much more attention than usual ; 
 and this, with a certain shade of sweet and tender 
 melancholy upon his features, rendered his ap- 
 pearance more than commonly interesting — nay, 
 almost elegant. He lifted up his eyes as his sister 
 came in — one glance of sympathy ; but they did 
 not exchange a word. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington was laughing and chatting 
 gaily : he was dressed in better taste than usual, 
 and looked so young and handsome that he very 
 well became the character in which he stood. His 
 fine brown hair was brushed carelessly across his 
 forehead, and carefully across the crown of his 
 head. He w^as full of spirits, complacent and 
 happy to a degree. He came up to his daughter 
 with a gallant and winning smile, and presenting
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 243 
 
 her to the gentlemen, of whom some were to her 
 strangers, made a few light, and, as he thought, 
 remarkably easy and happy speeches ; which she 
 received softly and kindly. She knew they were 
 well meant, at least. Soon the bustle increased, 
 and fresh carriasjes drove to the door. 
 
 And first in walked Mr. Jones, with his round, 
 red, handsome face — his very substantial figure — 
 his air of a very considerable man, in his very most 
 courteous humour. He shakes Wilmington heartily 
 by the hand ; he has a jest — such as it is — and a 
 kind patronizing speech for everybody — even for 
 Mr. Wilmington himself; for is he not a man of 
 twice his wealth and weight in the City ? 
 
 His daughter. Miss Jones, is upon his arm, most 
 elaborately dressed ; but she is plain, and — to tell 
 the truth — very cross-looking. For, alas ! poor 
 Mis& Jones had found that even her large portion 
 had failed as yet to obtain her such a settlement 
 as she liked in the world. Miss Lavinia followed, 
 leaning upon the arm of a tall whiskered youth, 
 dressed in the very extreme of the mode, and be- 
 
 B 2
 
 244 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 longing to some crack regiment or other. His 
 coat was of the first cut, his figure slender as a 
 wasp, and his face vacant ; for a sort of heedless, 
 lively, good-natured impertinence natural to him 
 had been effectively subdued into vacuity by 
 military hauteur, and the cold reserve which he 
 thought became his social position in a party such 
 as this. He was, however, the pride and glory of 
 his father, who called him '^ that graceless puppy,'^ 
 and indulged him in every way ; and whom he, in 
 return, called " governor,'^ and slighted and looked 
 down upon. 
 
 On this fine young gentleman^s arm, as I said, 
 hung his youngest sister. Miss Lavinia, who bent 
 and swayed about like a willow wand, with her 
 delicate veil and laces and feathers, and her pro- 
 fuse curls of fair hair hanging about her pretty blue 
 eyes ; and she minced, and laughed, and smiled, 
 and chatted, and called the men, " Oh, you wild 
 creature P^ and said, " For shame V^ and hid her 
 face, but not her smiles ; lest she should be called 
 methodistical, which she hated.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 245 
 
 And now, my dear reader, you have a slight 
 sketch of what constitutes, in my opinion, the 
 Branghtons of our day. 
 
 More carriages; and then Mr. Estcourt's 
 plain, bachelor's carriage, — his servants in plain 
 liveries, — his particularly plain set out, ap- 
 peared. 
 
 Now, Mr. Estcourt was the man of all his 
 acquaintance, of whom Mr. Wilmington stood the 
 most in awe. They had been intimate from their 
 youth upwards — from almost boys; and had suc- 
 ceeded their fathers as partners in the same house. 
 But Mr. Estcourt held himself above Mr. Wil- 
 mington, though his inferior in fortune and in the 
 place he occu2:)ied in the firm — for he was a scion 
 of a rather good family, and he piqued himself 
 much thereon. 
 
 He condescended, it is true, to get money ; — 
 and he was one of the hardest and most impas- 
 sible of men in all transactions of business, that 
 ever closed his hand against the prayers of a sink- 
 ing or struggling friend: he, however, despised
 
 2^ THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 the ostentation of that wealth which he so in- 
 satiably endeavoured to acquire. He had some 
 natural good taste, and the bitterest, most in- 
 flexible pride I ever met with in man ; — therefore, 
 he detested the vulgar display of his two partners, 
 and chose to spend his money so as rather to 
 evince the elegance of his taste, than the extent of 
 his riches. 
 
 A small house, simply, but expensively fitted 
 up; — a few choice pictures, a library, — every 
 volume in which was a rarity ; a small but beau- 
 tifully-appointed table — I should be ashamed to 
 tell you what he gave his cook — such was his 
 style of living. 
 
 All well enough, if this more refined taste had 
 not served as a nourishment to his heartless, ex- 
 clusive pride and self-esteem; and to the con- 
 temptuous disdain with which he looked down 
 upon others. 
 
 However, to proceed; there all the people stood, 
 and chattered, and tossed off chocolate together, 
 and got into their carriages again. Mr. Wilming-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 24? 
 
 ton, restless and disconcerted, having unluckily- 
 overheard an ironical commendation from Mr. 
 Estcourt upon the unexpected hospitality of the 
 day. 
 
 And now we are all standing in the chancel of 
 St. George's, Hanover-square -, — are assembled 
 once more in this our fifty-ninth century, to cele- 
 brate that primeval institution of the Creator, • 
 which, by the simple obligation it exacts, spiritua- 
 lizes and elevates the relation, or should do ; for I 
 am compelled to acknowledge, that in the instance 
 before us — as alas ! in so many others — nothing 
 could be less apparent than the spiritual and the 
 divine: — never was holiness, religion, and a pious 
 sense of mutual and sacred obligations more com- 
 pletely out of the question than upon the occasion 
 of the marriage before us, particularly as far as 
 regarded the principals. 
 
 Miss Emerson, in a white satin dress, covered 
 with Brussels' lace, displaying to perfection the 
 beauty of her tall and slender figure; her long, 
 fair hair disposed in the most becoming manner — ■
 
 248; THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 with a veil, and the indispensable orange and 
 myrtle flowers ; her long, swan-like neck modestly 
 drooping ; her embroidered handkerchief looking, 
 as somebody says, like a tissue of woven air, in 
 her hand — was, in spite of a few natural feelings 
 that would intrude, chiefly intent upon going 
 through the ceremony in the most agitated and 
 interesting manner that could become a delicate 
 female. Mr. Wilmington was still haunted by 
 that sneering speech of Mr. Estcourt's — it rang in 
 his ears in the most tormenting manner. Old 
 Jones looked stupid, and Miss Jones cross ; Miss 
 Lavinia languishing ; the Captain fine ; and Mr. 
 Estcourt supercilious. Foolish ' admiration, or 
 foolish fun, was in the faces of most part of the 
 rest. 
 
 Of course I except Caroline and Harry, whom 
 you know and feel for already ; and two more, for 
 behind Miss Emerson stood the old, kind Duchess, 
 who, as a distant connection, had been invited, 
 and had very kindly attended. She is looking 
 on, her venerable countenance filled with benig-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 249 
 
 nity ; and she leans with one hand upon an ivory- 
 headed staff, and the other rests upon the arm of 
 Flavia. 
 
 Flavia has, since we last saw her, improved ex- 
 tremely in her appearance ; pretty and sweet she 
 ever was, but now she is lovely beyond expression. 
 Her countenance is so varying and so animated — 
 when grave, so gentle and soft — when gay, so 
 playful and bewitching ; and there is still a pecu- 
 liar simplicity and originality of manner — in every 
 way ail that is most charming. Her features and 
 figure I have already described, and that soft 
 abundance of streaming hair ; as for her eyes, I 
 once heard it asked what was their colour — the 
 colour of sunshine, was the reply. 
 
 She looks grave now, and watches Lizzy with a 
 serious look of interest ; and the tears just moisten 
 her sweet eyes. In her artless goodness of heart, 
 she is thinking of the solemnity of the day : — how 
 awful, how imposing — the mutual pledge — the 
 irrevocable vow ; in this case especially, another^s 
 children concerned — what a responsibility !
 
 250 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Then her eyes wander towards Carohne; and 
 she thinks of the mother that is gone, and she 
 feels how at this moment to Carohne she must be 
 sadly present. She fancies her pale ghost, in the 
 vestments of the grave, gliding silently through 
 the gaudy circle — and she starts, and looks round 
 for Harry. 
 
 He is there, leaning against a pillar, his eyes 
 bent to the ground, most mournful ; but they are 
 often mournful. Flavia's eyes rest here. 
 
 On a sudden, like the change of a scene in a 
 theatre, it is over, and the company are crowding 
 about the bride. They are going to the vestry, 
 and then to the splendid breakfast which awaits 
 them at the bride^s father^s house; and Caroline 
 feels a little creature pressing against her, and the 
 softest of hands is thrust into her own. She 
 looks down, and two glistening sweet eyes meet 
 hers, telling a tale of honest affection, tender 
 sympathy, and fervent admiration. 
 
 Caroline felt as if balm were spread over her 
 wounded heart. She pressed Flavians hand ten- 
 derly.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 251 
 
 They were standing thus together when 
 Harry entered the vestry. A look, a dazzling 
 before the eyes, the deadly paleness for an 
 instant, — but no one observed it, — and Harry re- 
 covered himself, so as to come forward and speak 
 as usual. 
 
 And now Lord George, who had been pre- 
 sent also, came forward to tell Flavia that he 
 thought the Duchess seemed a good deal tired. 
 Lord George is as handsome as ever, and looks 
 the complete man of fashion and of the world : 
 his manners are agreeable, his smile insinuating, 
 and his eyes, when they look upon Flavia, seem 
 to beam with love and fondness. Harry's coun- 
 tenance again underwent rapid changes as he ap- 
 proached ; — he felt sick, and retreated behind the 
 crowd. 
 
 Flavia looked wistfully at Caroline. 
 
 " Caroline, I don't know, but promise me, if I 
 ask a favour, you will refuse me if you do not 
 quite like to grant it. I never know how people 
 may feel at such times. I may perhaps be only a
 
 252 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 bother^ and in your way ; but I should so like to 
 spend this day with 3^ou." 
 
 Lord George looked very black. 
 
 '' Have you forgotten the dinner at Rich- 
 mond ?'' 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ; but I don^t want to go there at 
 all; that is, if Caroline — ^if Miss Wilmington — will 
 have me/^ 
 
 "My sweetest Flavia," said Caroline, looking 
 down upon her Vv^ith a fond, gratified smile ; " my 
 sweetest girl, what you ask is so kind in you, and 
 will be so infinitely pleasant to me, that, as I sup- 
 pose, you have hundreds of dinners of that kind, 
 if you will promise not to repent, I will accept 
 gladly/^ 
 
 " Then I will run to the Duchess, and settle it 
 with her, and be back with you in a moment/^ 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; I have one of my father^s car- 
 riages at my disposal/' 
 
 She hastened away, Lord George following, 
 without, uttering another word, looking, as people 
 say, ]ike a thunder cloud.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 253 
 
 " My dear madam — my dear grandmamma — I 
 have a prodigious favour to ask of you." 
 
 '^ Which I hope ^ my dear grandmamma' will 
 refuse," said Lord George. 
 
 ^' Well, my dear, what is it ? — you seem in a vast 
 hurry." 
 
 " Can you spare me to spend the day with 
 Caroline Wilmington, dear grandmamma? You 
 guess why ? I need not tell you why I particularly 
 wish to spend this day with her." 
 
 " I at least can guess why,^^ said Lord George, 
 gloomily. 
 
 " I need not say more. You always understand 
 me at a word, dearest madam." 
 
 " I think I do in this case, at least, my love ; 
 and if Miss Wilmington be of my taste, your 
 company will be particularly acceptable. Go, by 
 all means ; but have you not forgotten Rich- 
 mond ?" 
 ^^Oh, no." 
 
 ^^ I thought as much. Well, I must send your 
 excuses by Lord George then."
 
 254 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 '^ If you please^, ma^am. Oh, how good you 
 are! Shall I stay with you till your carriage 
 draws up ?^^ 
 
 ^'^ No, my love, return to your friend. I shall 
 do perfectly well with this very sweet-tempered 
 looking cousin of yours,'^ nodding to Lord George, 
 "if he will place you under Miss Wilmington^s 
 wing, and then come back for me/^ 
 
 Lord George, preserving the most ungracious 
 silence, conducted Flavia to her friend, and, 
 having left her in what he styled delectable com- 
 pany, returned to the good Duchess, put her into 
 her carriage, and jumping in after her himself, 
 humming an air between his teeth or biting his 
 lips, in silent ill-humour, left the good grand- 
 mother to her own reflections during the way 
 home. 
 
 I need say nothing of the breakfast. It was 
 just like every other elaborate wedding-breakfast.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 255 
 
 which, when weddings are cordial, joyous things, 
 produce a very agreeable little fuss and hurry 
 before the last leave-taking comes oiF; but in this 
 case, what with pompous ostentation upon one 
 side, susceptible vanity upon others, and self- 
 seeking upon all, — it was as cold and unin- 
 teresting an affair as I ever found myself pre- 
 sent at. 
 
 The bride and bridegroom, — she, still preserving 
 her languishing air of bridal sensibility, he, when 
 he was not thinking of himself, only thinking of 
 her with reference to himself, and how this youth, 
 beauty, and grace in his young wife ministered to 
 his vanity, — were supported on each side by the 
 bride's father and her two brothers, — all three 
 fussy, affected, finely-dressed, vulgar men, in their 
 several ways. 
 
 Toasts, however, were drank, and speeches were 
 made, and people began to expand in spirits a 
 little under the influence of the good things ; and 
 talking and laughing, and eating and flirting.
 
 256 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 began on both sides of the table, as they ought 
 to do. 
 
 Caroline, Harry, and Flavia sat together at the 
 lower end. Flavia in gay spirits, showering, as I 
 might almost say, her sunny heart-winning smiles 
 upon Harry, who, filled with his own desponding 
 thoughts, turned away, almost unable to bear the 
 feelings this sweet cordiality awakened. And 
 when he did, she would turn and address herself 
 to Caroline, and prattle away, her voice filled with 
 affectionate kindness. 
 
 ^'Then after this grand breakfast is over we are 
 to go out together to Roehampton }'' 
 " If you have no objection, my love." 
 ^^ I shall so enjoy it 5 sitting upon the soft 
 green grass, under those delightful trees, chatting 
 and laughing as we used to do.^^ 
 
 " And Harry," said Caroline to him, " I hope 
 you are coming out too. I hope this day^ at 
 least, you will make a holiday, Harry .^^ 
 
 *' I must go into the City, and I must visit
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 25? 
 
 Selwyn ; and then I will follow you as soon as 
 possible/^ 
 
 " Madness ! " said he to himself in the agony of 
 his feelings. " Yet why not ? What matters it V 
 as with a sort of desperate defiance of suffering, 
 which overcame every consideration of prudence, 
 he resolved to snatch at the dangerous delight 
 of her society, whatever the after cost. The 
 daily unhappiness of his life had produced in this 
 naturally temperate nature a sort of restless indif- 
 ference as to a future, which he felt, but with too 
 much certainty, held out no promise of bliss for 
 him. 
 
 But little did his countenance express these 
 feelings : there was nothing observable but a 
 nervous, anxious hurry, as he calculated the time 
 it would take to hasten to the City, glance in at 
 Selwyn, and fly to Roehampton, so as not to lose 
 one moment of this but too delightful day. 
 
 He thought the breakfast would never come to 
 an end ; for sweet as was her presence there, what 
 was that to the bliss of being alone with her and 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Caroline, on such a day, and amid the shades of 
 the shrubberies at Roehampton. 
 
 At last the company rose from table, and Lizzy 
 went to change her dress, and to return, and with 
 tears just trembling in her beautiful eyes, to cast 
 herself into her father^s and mother^s arms, and 
 to be torn away and hurried by her tender bride- 
 groom to her carriage. 
 
 And so farewell, and bon voyage. 
 
 Then the company dispersed; and Caroline and 
 riavia entered Mr. Wilmington's britschka, and 
 were soon whirled away to Roehampton; and 
 Harry opened the door of Selwyn's room. — ^A 
 short, sharp, hard cough was heard. 
 
 Selwyn was sitting upon a sofa, with a table 
 covered with books before him, — books being 
 tossed upon the sofa and floor around. A waiter 
 stood upon the table, with a small basin of half-
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 259 
 
 consumed broth^ and the untasted parallelograms 
 of dry toast tossed here and there. Upon the 
 other side of the table was another waiter, with a 
 phial of physic, a teaspoon, and a teacup. The 
 room was airy and handsomely furnished, but 
 littered from one end to the other, — boots, slip- 
 pers, hats, canes, newspapers, caricatures, letters, 
 all in most admired, or rather most sad confusion. 
 There was no female hand, — no mother, sister, 
 wife, — to dispute order and comfort in his sick 
 room. Sick at heart and weary of spirit, the 
 master, with languid hand, it was plain, flung 
 everything away from him as he had done with it, 
 and he had not energy enough left to arrange^ or 
 even to order others to arrange the melancholy 
 confusion. Mr. Selwyn possessed a large fortune, 
 —what was that here? — but he had not a female 
 relation in the world. Sickness is a great leveller; 
 in one respect, this rich man^s case was one of 
 miserable destitution. 
 
 He was lying in his dressing-gown, his coat 
 hanging near him upon a chair, as if his servant 
 
 s 2
 
 260 THE "WILMINGTONS. 
 
 had brought it in, and he had felt too languid to 
 encumber himself with it. Classical books, and 
 books of German and English philosophy, were 
 lying around him, but his finger was on the pages 
 of a trashy novel. He threw it aside with a look 
 of weariness and disgust, and a bright crimson 
 flashed to his cheek as his friend entered. 
 
 ^^ Oh ! there you are, Harry — I am right glad 
 to see you at last. — Well, it's all over, I sup- 
 pose?'' 
 
 ^^ Oh, yes;" and throwing himself into a chair, 
 crossing his arms upon the table, buried his 
 face upon them. Selwyn respected a first mo- 
 ment of emotion ; but as the chest of his friend 
 began to heave with unwonted passion, and as 
 tears were evidently running from his eyes, whilst 
 he almost groaned aloud, — surprise succeeded to 
 sympathy, and Selwyn expostulated. 
 
 ^^ But, my dear Harry ! this is really a weakness, 
 — an unpleasant day, certainly, — but really, " 
 
 " Fool and madman 1" cried Henry, rising im- 
 patiently and dashing the tears from his eyes.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 261 
 
 " My dear Selwyn, forgive me ; I was quite over- 
 come, — but it is over now. How are you }'' 
 
 " Nay ; how are you, Henry r^' 
 
 ^^ Oh, don^t think of me, my dear fellow. Will 
 you come out to Roehampton to-day ? The air 
 Avould do you good. My sister is there and her 
 
 friend Miss L . It is a delicious day; do 
 
 come ; let us be happy, Albert, once in this world 
 — let us heap upon one day a pressure of happiness 
 such as this world rarely offers. Alas ! that it must 
 he delusive as it is sweet ! . . . . And then " 
 
 " Yes ; and then let me pursue the dark dreary 
 road that is leading me downwards to the grave. 
 You are right, Henry. Yes, I will come. Order 
 my carriage, will you? I am past cabs. This 
 delightful day will put life into me.^^ 
 
 The ancients mingled the image of death with 
 the roses of their festivals. They seemed to take 
 a voluptuous pleasure in associating the melan- 
 choly remembrance of the grave with all that was 
 rich and rapturous, in their bright sense of ex- 
 istence. The dark grave is ever before them — the
 
 262 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 cold shadow passes over their jewelled cups, and 
 breathes upon their flowery wreathes — it mingles 
 with their gayest carouses, and rests upon their 
 beds of purple and gold. 
 
 So it seemed to be with these two young men: 
 both struck to the heart — one in the spring of 
 hope, the other of life, — one feeling that existence 
 lay like a desert before him, the other, that he 
 soon must die — to seize upon the cup of joy that 
 momentarily presented — crown it — and drain it in 
 
 one rich draught, and then such was the 
 
 feeling of both. 
 
 " Yes, I will spend one last summer day with 
 Caroline,^^ thought Albert. 
 
 '^Yes, I will yield myself to the dangerous 
 enjoyment of her smiles,^^ muttered Henry. 
 
 "What's that, Henry ?^^ 
 
 "Oh! Albert, ask me nothing. I love her — I 
 adore her — and for ever in vain.^' 
 
 " Poor fellow !" 
 
 A pause. Henry was the first to break it. 
 
 " I had forgotten,^^ said he, hastily. " I have
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 263^ 
 
 business for my father ; I must go into the City. 
 Will you wait for me ?^' 
 
 Alas ! poor Henry! Even in this state of excited 
 feeling, he had to plunge into all the worry of 
 business — to thread the dark streets which lead 
 to the temple of mammon — to drive smiles, and 
 roses, and love, and sun-beams out of his head — 
 and to talk with busy clerks in close, dingy rooms 
 filled with desks, and, more dingy still, papers 
 covered with the long array of figures and invoices; 
 he must discard all the sweet dreams of fancy, 
 and think only of realities — stunning, perplexing 
 realities ; for, in spite of his father's great wealth, 
 the immediate necessity for paying those bills was 
 truly embarrassing. 
 
 No sooner was he seated, pen in hand, to cal- 
 culate the value of shares and stocks, than he 
 foimd the provision for the needful fall far short of 
 the demands. These he found pouring in on all 
 sides, and far exceeding what his careless and 
 improvident father had prepared him to expect. 
 To satisfy these numerous claimants, he felt
 
 264 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 would be extremely difficult without submitting 
 to very great sacrifices ; and already he began to 
 sicken at the thought of the vast waste of property 
 occasioned by this senseless profusion. 
 
 Harassed, vexed, disappointed, wearied in 
 spirit, and depressed by that painful sense of 
 pecuniary difficulty, which for the first time came 
 over him, he mounted his horse — all the Vvdld 
 enthusiasm of the morning sobered down to the 
 serious anxieties of the hour. But it was this, 
 in truth, which gave their depth and force to 
 Henry^s feelings. It was that they arose, not 
 from the mere effervescence of an idle fancy, 
 which had nothing to do with life but to dally 
 with it and to play with it, and to deck it and 
 cover its hollowness with roses, and silks, and 
 gildings. Steep a man in cold, bitter realities, 
 harden him by contact with the labouring, striving, 
 calculating world of monied business; chasten him 
 by crushing his most delicate tastes, by disgust- 
 ing his most tender fancies ; force him into the 
 struggle with grasping, vulgar human life; and then
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 265 
 
 chano:e the scene, and lead him to the bowers of 
 sweetness^ grace, and tenderness, and let what is 
 to him as an angePs presence gild the enchanting 
 picture ; and then tell me whether that man will 
 not feel it. 
 
 But there is something even more than this. 
 Love is a passion, which, to be deep and lasting, 
 requires a certain substantiality^ if I may say so, a 
 seriousness in it. Few men not engaged in the 
 current pursuit of important objects, acquire that 
 depth and firmness of character which is neces- 
 sary to the existence of a strong enduring passion. 
 I have my doubts whether the pretty fellows who 
 have nothing better to do than to make love, 
 can form any idea of what the genuine senti- 
 ment is. 
 
 Harry, calmed and sobered, arrived at his 
 friend's door; the excitement of the morning 
 subdued, and all its bright visions tempered down; 
 but was the image which was peace, and love, and 
 joy to him less vivid, or less dearly cherished in 
 his heart of hearts ? ah! no.
 
 266 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Albert^ faint and sick^ — for the warmth of the 
 sun which diffused cheerfulness upon all around, 
 seemed only to excite a sort of feverish^ irritating, 
 sense of heat in him, — leaned languidly against the 
 cushions of his britschka. Henry sat opposite, 
 and marked with sorrow the sharpening features, — 
 the evening brightness of the eye, — the flickering 
 hectic colour on his cheek. The spirits of the 
 sick man had already fallen, and the picture of 
 delight had faded away. A load pressed upon 
 his bosom ; iron fetters hampered, as it were, his 
 limbs — the very light became painful, nay, loath- 
 some to his eyes. By the time he reached Roe- 
 hampton, to lie down upon a sofa, to close 
 his eyelids, to sink into the melancholy soli- 
 tude of extreme sickness, solitude even in 
 the very midst of those we love best, ^^free 
 among the dead, like unto them which go down 
 unto the grave,^^ was all that poor Selwyn 
 could do. 
 
 Harry, perceiving how faint he was, and already 
 repenting that he had persuaded him to come out^
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 26? 
 
 laid him upon the sofa. CaroUne spread the 
 cushions for him, and spoke to him with a ten- 
 derness and kindness that soothed even the bit- 
 terness of that bitter hour, whilst Flavia stood 
 by watching them in silence ; her eyes swimming 
 with tender pity, and her looks, as Henry turned 
 towards her, filled with compassion and good- 
 ness. 
 
 And yet it was, after all, a sweet day. Not 
 enrapturing and intoxicating as the two friends 
 had imagined to themselves, — but tender, holy, 
 and still, Albert dosed upon the sofa in that 
 beautiful drawing-room — Caroline sat by him with 
 her work in her hand, — Flavia by her side, pre- 
 tending too to work, — Henry leaning over the back 
 of the sofa looking at them, a few words dropping 
 from time to time in that low voice which seems 
 to give an air of peculiar intimacy and con- 
 fidence to the conversation. There was happiness 
 in the mere feeling of being all together. Flavia 
 very often addressed Henry, and looked at him 
 with something of the same sort of interest as
 
 268 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 that with which Caroline regarded the sufferer 
 upon the sofa. 
 
 " I am sure/^ said she^ " that you have been 
 jading yourself in that tiresome City again, Henry; 
 just as you used to do last year, when you would 
 come home so hot and good for nothing." And 
 then she thought, — as she had often done before, 
 with mingled pity and indignation, — upon the 
 father's thoughtless levity, which allowed the son 
 in the flower of his youth to be buried in these 
 wearisome cares and occupations. 
 
 And as thus she thought, her countenance, true 
 to that good and sensible heart, beamed upon him 
 with more than usual sweetness, and her voice 
 was modulated to a harmony softer than ever, 
 when she addressed him — and she very often did 
 address him, for she was accustomed to treat him 
 with a sort of playful, sisterly familiarity. 
 
 And thus this charming summer afternoon was 
 idled away. Albert could not go down to din- 
 ner, so they agreed not to leave him, but to go by 
 turns ; and Henry and Flavia went down first, for
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 269 
 
 Albert had whispered, " Caroline, stay with me/^ 
 He coughed that sharp short cough which went to 
 her heart. 
 
 " Are they gone ? . . . . Caroline, you do not— 
 you cannot love me ; yet give me your hand/' 
 
 She gave it him. 
 
 " I am glad I must die, Caroline, since so it is ; 
 for as one loves a dying man, you can and you do 
 love me, now.'' 
 
 '^ Indeed, Albert, I have the most sincere and 
 perfect friendship and affection for you. Do not 
 let us talk of either mournful or foolish things." 
 
 " If you had been my wife, Caroline, I might 
 have died holding your hand as I do now ; but 
 things go hard with me — health — youth — love — 
 the common universal blessings — all denied," said 
 he, with a shade of bitterness ; '^ and yet, strange 
 mystery of sickness — to lay my hand upon this 
 pillow, and be quiet, is almost all I desire — resi — 
 might this hand have only been mine !" 
 
 And he pressed it, then closed his eyes, and lay 
 holding it ; — he would willingly so have departed.
 
 270 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 ' Henry and Flavia sat down to dinner. She, 
 relieved from the actual presence of poor Albert 
 and his sufferings^ chatted cheerfully away. He 
 sj^oke little and eat nothing. Presently she ran 
 away to exchange with Caroline. 
 
 " He is asleep/^ whispered Caroline, pointing 
 to her imprisoned hand. 
 
 " I will not leave him. Go down again ; I will 
 stay here/^ 
 
 " No V' said he, releasing her hand, " I am 
 not asleep. Go, Caroline, and you, too, pretty 
 Flavia, — leave me here. I shall be quiet, and 
 then I shall feel better.^' 
 
 They went down, and there he lay. 
 
 The light curtains rising and falling to the wind 
 displayed the lovely landscape beyond ; — that 
 beautiful world of which he was soon to take 
 leave. The cheerful insects buzzed among the 
 flowers; the wind murmured and whispered 
 amid the trees, and the sounds of active life were 
 heard in the distant fields and lanes. By-and-by 
 the bell of a neighbouring church began to toll,.
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 2fi 
 
 He listened ; — it was the passing bell. Slow and 
 solemn^ and mournful^ it fell upon his ear, calling 
 him from this warm, sunny, world of life, to his 
 cold, damp, solitary grave. 
 
 It was too much. He rose hastily, and fol- 
 lowed the rest to the dining-room, called for food 
 and for wine ; and, as the momentary excitement 
 poured the stream of life more fervently through 
 his veins, he talked and smiled; and then they 
 walked out, and enjoyed that beautiful evening, 
 in those beautiful grounds ; and his friends began 
 to rejoice in his strength, and attribute the 
 languor of the morning to the accidental fatigue. 
 
 It was a happy— happy evening.
 
 2/2 THE WILMINGTONS, 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 My Lord advances with majestic mien, 
 Smit with the mighty pleasure, to be seen. 
 
 Pope. 
 
 Henry spent a most painful month, during his 
 father's absence ; his anxiety and embarrassment 
 increasing daily, as fresh and fresh accounts poured 
 in, and every morning produced some new proof 
 of Mr. Wilmington's unbounded extravagance. 
 The partners began to look unpleasantly. Jones 
 growled, and Estcourt sneered ; and Henry- 
 counted with a sort of angry impatience the
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 273 
 
 days that were to elapse before his father's 
 return. 
 
 In the meantime, Mr. Wilmington and his 
 Lizzy pursued their delightful tour. Their plea- 
 sure consisted principally in driving, with all the 
 eclat and hurry of foreign posting to the principal 
 inn of every place they visited;, examining the 
 car'te and the appointments, and astonishing the 
 delighted landlord by the magnificence of their 
 orders, — their apartments, entrees, and wines, 
 being of course the most expensive that were to 
 be had. If the day was very fine, and they not 
 particularly idle, they would perhaps lounge out 
 before dinner to visit one or two of the principal 
 lions of the place ; and Lizzy would take out her 
 splendidly bound sketch-book, and in a soft, in- 
 different kind of manner, make a few indistinct 
 marks, which she fancied was making sketches ; — 
 which sketches she would coquette about, and 
 affect to hide from the enamoured husband ; who, 
 fortunately for her, was no judge of drawing. 
 This, with being tired, interesting head-aches, and 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 a little gossipping with her maid, — assisted by 
 the never-to-be-exhausted pleasure of buying 
 lace, trinkets, and finery, at the various places 
 she visited, — whiled away the time pretty well. 
 Then she would walk through the picture galle- 
 ries, and mark the principal pictures in her cata- 
 logue. But she scarcely gave herself time to 
 look at them, and would have had not the slightest 
 conception of their merit, if she had. Moreover, 
 she would write a few lines in her journal; — and 
 so — with sleeping a good deal, and eating not a 
 little, she got along. 
 
 Mr. Wilmington was too proud of displaying 
 the young and beautiful creature he had married, 
 and too busy taking care of or adorning himself, to 
 feel the time hang heavy upon his hands. The 
 toilette, the table, and more especially the seeking 
 out and purchasing articles of vertu, which he 
 thought would demonstrate even to Estcourt the 
 delicacy of his taste ; — learning all the names, 
 qualities, and distinctions of the Rhine wines, and 
 purchasing largely for his cellar, amused him very
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 2fS 
 
 well. For the rest^ he lay back dozing in his car- 
 riage, as they swept rapidly through the mag- 
 nificent scenery of South Germany ; though he had 
 been awake enough, when they spent a few days as 
 they usually did at the different Brunnens ; there, 
 he displayed — much to his satisfaction, his own 
 tall, slender figure, and the elegant figure of his 
 beautiful wife, — his equipages, dress, and expensive 
 manner of living, — before all the Counts, Barons, 
 Dukes, and Princes — Russian, Hungarian, Austrian, 
 Prussian, and Pole — which there abounded; eyeing 
 at the same time the orders which adorned their 
 button-holes with mingled envy and veneration. 
 
 Moreover, at these Brunnens, he was enabled to 
 make a sort of acquaintance with many of these 
 magnates. He had spoken to Prince this, and 
 ridden with Count that, and lost his money to 
 Baron so and so ; he had heard himself called the 
 rich and handsome Englishman. Lizzy had be- 
 come known, on her side, to Princesses and Land- 
 gravines; she had talked with Ambassadresses 
 and smiled upon Prince Royals. 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 In short, Mr. Wilmington, as he retraced his 
 steps, felt excessively gratified and elevated in his 
 own opinion, by the results of this expensive 
 journey. And certainly, if, as some one has said, 
 self-conceit be one of the first blessings from 
 heaven, it cannot be denied that he had very con- 
 siderably increased his possessions in that respect; 
 while Lizzy, — who only wanted the gloss of foreign 
 travel to finish the very complete education she 
 had received at Mrs. Steelcollar's seminary, — re- 
 turned with the conviction that she was now the 
 very model of what an elegant female, gifted with 
 superior advantages, both from art and nature, 
 ought to be. 
 
 When they arrived in Belgrave-square, where 
 Mr. Wilmington, with his newly-acquired style of 
 manners, entered his drawing-room in all the dig- 
 nity of self-possession, his elegantly-dressed foreign 
 looking wife hanging upon his arm, and while ex- 
 tending one hand to his daughter, nodded to his 
 son, — while Lizzy smiled and lisped out her tender 
 expressions of pleasure at seeing her dear Caroline
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 277 
 
 and Henry again, — Flavia stood apart — for she 
 happened to be there — measuring them with her 
 eye, and drinking in the whole meaning of the 
 scene with mingled amusement and contempt. 
 
 " And Flavia, too, — sweet Flavia,^^ lisped Mrs. 
 Wilmington, 
 
 " Yes, Lizzy, here I am. How do you do }'' 
 
 She did not know what to say. 
 
 '^Miss L I am enchanted to find you here, 
 
 honouring my daughter with your company,^^ was 
 Mr. Wilmington's address. 
 
 " Oh, sir, we have been a great deal together 
 whilst you have been away ; have not we, Caroline ?" 
 
 They w^ere still standing; like bad actors 
 in a bad play, the characters could neither 
 get on nor ofi. How could the piece advance 
 when those who were to play the principal parts 
 did not know what they would be at; and where 
 the subordinate characters had too much taste 
 and delicacy to take the lead ? At last, however, 
 they all reached their chairs, and Mr. and Mrs. 
 Wilmington began to play grand company, as
 
 278 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 the children say^ before their own son and 
 daughter. 
 
 Harry was sitting rather apart, by one of the 
 windows, looking harassed and uneasy. Caroline 
 began to talk to Lizzy about her tour. Flavia 
 sat down behind her, smiling to herself at the 
 absurd figure they all made, in this affectionate 
 family party, and wishing herself a thousand miles 
 off — that is to say, in Berkeley-square, with her 
 good, well-bred, simple grandmamma, even though 
 Lord George should be there, — rather than with 
 those superfine people, who were too genteel to 
 show a spark of natural affection ; and, therefore, 
 she, with whom to think was to act — and to wish, 
 to do — said, 
 
 ^^ Henry, my footman is, I believe, in the hall, 
 and I am going to walk home/^ 
 
 " I thought you would stay dinner, to-day,'^ 
 said Caroline. " Mrs. Wilmington would be very 
 happy, I am sure,^^ — recollecting herself, and ap- 
 pealing to Lizzy, who already began to look rather 
 offended and uneasy at the daughter taking the
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 279 
 
 liberty to make this invitation to her father's 
 house. 
 
 " Indeed^ dearest Flavia, it would make Mr. 
 Wilmington and myself but too happy/' she said, 
 however. 
 
 " No, thank you aU. I must go home to-day ; 
 I shall be expected.'' 
 
 Henry took his hat, as she left the room, and 
 followed her down stairs. 
 
 " You will let me go with you, Flavia ; I do not 
 like that you should, at this time of day too, v*^alk 
 up Grosvenor-place by yourself." 
 
 '^ Oh, thank you, I shall be delighted with your 
 escort." 
 
 They left the house together, he walking by 
 her side ; but he did not offer his arm. He was 
 silent and absorbed. 
 
 " What is the matter, Harry 1" at last she said, 
 in her sweetest tone. "Why do you look so 
 unhappy ? But I beg your pardon, I have no right 
 to ask; family matters, I know they are; — only tell 
 me this, is there any reason why you should look 
 so very unhappy?"
 
 280 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 He sighed, but made no answer^ and they pro- 
 ceeded. Presently a group of young men, on 
 horseback, followed by their grooms, come up 
 Grosvenor-place. 
 
 " What a sweet little figure ?' cries one. 
 
 " What a gay Lothario by her side ?' laughed 
 another. 
 
 " Where are you off, George ?" exclaimed 
 a third, as Lord George hastily dismounted, 
 threw his bridle to his groom, and joined the 
 walkers. 
 
 " What, in the name of all that^s good, Flavia, 
 can you be doing here at this time of day ?'^ 
 
 " 1 am walking home.^^ 
 
 " Walking home ! Where is my grandmother^s 
 carriage ? Where can you have been }'' 
 
 " Oh, I have been at Mr. Wilmington^s ; and 
 Mr. Henry Wilmington is so good as to escort 
 me home/^ 
 
 '^ I will spare Mr. Henry Wilmington any 
 farther trouble,^' said Lord George, ceremoniously 
 and haughtily, — " take my arm, Flavia.^^
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 281 
 
 " Miss L condescended to accept of my ser- 
 vices/^ said Henry; "and I hope not to be dis- 
 missed before we reach her door/^ 
 
 " Thank you/' said Flavia^ looking a little em- 
 barrassed; "but I need give you no further 
 trouble now. Good day, Mr. Wilmington :'' and 
 with a slight curtsey she walked away with Lord 
 George. 
 
 It might have been observed that she called 
 him Harry when alone with him, and Mr. Wil- 
 mington when in presence of Lord George. But 
 poor Harry was consoled with no such reflection ; 
 he saw only the distinguished figure of this high- 
 bred young man, and mentally contrasted it with 
 his own homely appearance, as he, too, had walked 
 up Grosvenor-place, the light figure of the lovely 
 Flavia beside him. 
 
 He understood himself to be dismissed, as 
 a matter of course, to make way for Lord 
 George. 
 
 He sighed as one accustomed to disappointment 
 sighs, and turned slowly homewards.
 
 282 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Lord George walked on, erect and triumphant, 
 by the side of his young companion. 
 
 "Upon my soul, Flavia/' said he, "you do 
 show a most delectable taste in the selection of 
 those you distinguish with your favour. I sup- 
 pose the next thing we shall hear is, that you 
 have eloped with that very choice specimen of 
 a city merchant's son and heir; and we shall 
 have you falling down at grandmamma's feet 
 and asking her blessing upon so rational a 
 choice. ^^ 
 
 '^ What nonsense you talk. Lord George,'^ she 
 answered rather pettishly. "What vulgar non- 
 sense! about city merchants, and run-away 
 matches. Really, you would disgrace a French 
 dancing-master at a second-rate boarding-school, 
 with these supremely fine airs." 
 
 " So, so ; v;e are in a huff. I beg ten thousand 
 pardons. No idea things had gone so far, upon 
 my honour." 
 
 "No, I am not in a huff; and you have no 
 right to accuse me of being in a huff, which you
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 283 
 
 invariably do v/hen I think you vulgar or imper- 
 tinent/^ 
 
 '^Vulgar I may he'' said he^with a self-satisfied 
 smile and drawing himself up ; "but impertinent/^ 
 stooping down to her with much tenderness in 
 his air, '^ I can scarcely conceive that I can be, in 
 anything which concerns you, Flavia/^ 
 
 " And why not, I beg ?'' 
 
 " Why not ? What a question ! Is not every- 
 thing you do, think, or say, of a million times 
 more consequence to me than to any other crea- 
 ture breathing ? Flavia, you know it ; and why, 
 in the name of mischief, you choose to amuse 
 yourself and torment me, by coquetting with a 
 Russia merchant's clerk, I confess, passes my 
 conception. I ow^n, if j^our choice were a little 
 more elevated, there might be some excuse. A 
 man. does not feel so excessively mortified when 
 he sees the woman he adores, adored and a little 
 flattered by the adoration, of men his equals, and 
 perhaps his superiors. One may bear that ; but 
 such a dangler as this ! Upon my life ! I could
 
 284 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 scarcely help laughing, mad as I was^ as I saw 
 that pretty bonnet — that sweet little mantilla — 
 and a figure, which might have belonged to the 
 youngest of the Graces herself, by the side of 
 honest, substantial, cent per cent/^ 
 
 riavia turned away her head without making 
 any reply, but she drew away her hand from Lord 
 George^s arm. 
 
 " Nay,^^ said he, looking under her bonnet : 
 " is it so very serious an affair ? Nay, Flavia ; if 
 you are offended, and that little scolding tongue 
 of yours is silent, I shall begin to think it more 
 than a laughing matter — upon my word, I 
 shall/^ 
 
 ^^ I wish you wouldn't plague me so,^' impa- 
 tiently shrugging her shoulder at him. 
 
 He laughed at the pretty pouter. 
 
 ^^You little level— you darling! — you dear, 
 dear, little Flavia ! how can you be so cross ?" 
 
 ^' Why do you speak to me in that manner. 
 Lord George ?" suddenly turning round and look- 
 ing him full in the face. ^^ I am sure I don^t
 
 THE WILMIXGTONS. 285 
 
 know what right you have to speak in that way ; 
 
 and I don't like it/' 
 
 "In what way ? Nay, you shall tell me in 
 
 what way — what way do you mean ? Tell me 
 
 over again — what did I say in that way? Come, 
 
 repeat it/' 
 
 "You are excessively disagreeable," said she, 
 
 hardly able to help crying between vexation, 
 
 embarra^'sment, and anger. 
 
 But he continued to torment her. He had 
 contrived to maintain the easy familiarity of 
 childhood between them, and he was not disposed 
 to forego the advantage. 
 
 "You know your power over me, you dear 
 thing, you — you know you have tormented me 
 ever since you came home for the holidays 
 from Mrs. SteelcoUar's, in your dear little 
 prudish white frock, and those bunches of 
 pink ribbons that tied up your adorable little 
 sleeves. You did not understand then — how 
 should you? — what mischief you were doing 
 with me; but you do know — or, at least,
 
 286 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 you ought to know — now/^ he added, more 
 seriously. 
 
 And he tried to replace her arm in his again ; 
 but she shook him off and walked on. 
 
 ^^ I only know that you talk in a way I don't 
 like at alV 
 
 " Pooh — pooh ! You know you do like it of 
 all things. Every woman likes — must like- — it is 
 her very nature — to be worshipped and idolized, 
 as I worship and idolize you. But here we are, 
 at last. Now, don^t go to my grandmother with 
 that heated face. She dotes on you so, that, fond 
 as she is of me, I lay myself under her highest 
 displeasure, if I presume to vex you ever so little. 
 Come, come, Flavia, don't be so cross and unac- 
 countable — don^t go away without one friendly 
 word," as she was crossing the hall without 
 looking at him. 
 
 She now stopped and said, — 
 
 " I don't know what words you want me to say, 
 Lord George. If I were to speak out what I 
 now think, I am sure it would not please you.'^
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 28? 
 
 ^^No, I'll be bound it would not; nothing 
 ever does_, when you take that grave governess 
 tone. So, thank you, Fll do without it. Au 
 revoir, sweetest creature upon the face of the 
 earth !" 
 
 And kissing his hand in a half-tender, half- 
 joking manner, he walked away. 
 
 That day the Duchess dined alone with her two 
 grandchildren. The good Duchess, who lamented 
 —as a sensible, pious friend must do — the idle, 
 thoughtless manner in which Lord George passed 
 his time, and who saw little hope of any call to 
 the public service — for him the best, nay, only 
 chance of awakening the dormant good in his 
 character — looked fondly to the hope that his 
 passion for Flavia might exercise that beneficial 
 influence over his mind which she so desired 
 to see.
 
 288 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 Few people, perhaps, would have looked for any- 
 very important influences from a gay, fluttering crea- 
 ture like this young girl ; but the Duchess under- 
 stood her well, and discerned the steady good sense 
 and intellectual vigour which that pretty smiling 
 exterior concealed; and she desired no better 
 chance for Lord George than to live under the 
 influence of such a being. 
 
 The very large fortune, too, to which Flavia was 
 heiress had some effect upon her wishes ; though, 
 to do her justice, slight in comparison to the other. 
 However, that for all these reasons she did wish 
 most ardently to see Lord George and Flavia 
 united, is most certain ; and, in consequence, she 
 did everything in her power to promote their 
 being together. Flavia at eighteen was thus ex- 
 posed to all the fascinations of a very handsome 
 and really charming young man of fashion ; but 
 eighteen — heedless, shortsighted, vain and giddy as 
 it is mostly considered to be — possesses in many 
 lovely instances, an innocent, disinterested, unso- 
 phisticated wisdom, which resembles that of the
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 289 
 
 guileless child, wise in virtuous instincts, in a 
 strong uncompromising sense of right and wrong, 
 in an enthusiastic power of moral approbation or 
 disapprobation. 
 
 And Flavia possessed all this simple rectitude 
 of taste and principle in its highest perfection. 
 
 Now the good old Duchess dozed upon her 
 couch after dinner, and Flavia sat by her side 
 with her embroidering frame before her ; and Lord 
 George planted himself upon a footstool at her feet, 
 talking to her in a low voice, and sighing, and 
 throwing an air of dismal melancholy into his face, 
 which was partly the result of feeling, partly of 
 design. 
 
 ^y Ah ! Flavia, how insensible you are ? How 
 that needle goes in and out, — in and out. You 
 never once look at me ; I could tear that cockatoo 
 to pieces ; you did not use to be so ill-natured. I 
 said something in the Park that made you angry, 
 — 1 see I did; — I had not the least conception, 
 upon my word, when 1 came down to dinner, that 
 you could look so constrainedly, so unkindly at 
 
 VOL. I. u 
 
 <
 
 290 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 me ; you know I dote upon the very ground you 
 tread on ; that I love you more than the love of 
 all brothers, cousins^ friends put together; and 
 yet you torment me in this unaccountable 
 manner/^ 
 
 She raised her fair young head from the frame 
 over which she leant, shook back her flowing 
 silken curls, fixed her eyes, — pure and clear as 
 those of an infant — seriously, upon his face, and 
 said, — 
 
 " I do not like the way you talk to me, Lord 
 George; and I think if my grandmother heard 
 you, she would say I was right." 
 
 " And what, my sweetest little girl ?" said he 
 more gravely than usual, for he was struck, as for 
 the first time, with the serious expression of her 
 face. " And what, my sweetest little girl ?^' en- 
 deavouring to take her hand, but she kept it at 
 her work, — " What do I say ? what can I say ? 
 that my grandmother would not approve ? You 
 do me wrong, Flavia, or you mistake me alto- 
 gether. I never said, knowingly, to you, that
 
 THE WILMINGTONS. 291 
 
 thing which could displease an angel ; — what can 
 you be thinking of V and he laughed a little, as 
 she thought, saucily. 
 
 She did not blush, — she would not blush, — but 
 again she found herself embarrassed to express 
 her meaning. 
 
 " I am sure/^ continued he, ^^ I would rather 
 die, — and I should deserve to die, if I gave you 
 cause to be offended at anything I said ; who can 
 have put such nonsense into your head ?'^ and he 
 laughed again. 
 
 She was silent. — It was plain he would not 
 understand her meaning. She could not openly 
 accuse him of that which she felt to be the 
 truth: that he assumed a tone only justifiable 
 in a lover, declared and accepted ; and that she 
 had a suspicion that he did this by design, in 
 order to involve her in terms of intimacy, 
 which she might find it impossible to break 
 from. And she was quite right in this sus- 
 picion. He did act partly through calculation, 
 though the affection he professed was most sin-
 
 292 THE WILMINGTONS. 
 
 cere, and he sincerely delighted in talking to her 
 of it. 
 
 The effect^ however, he produced by this be- 
 haviour was the reverse of what he intended. He 
 teased, frightened, perplexed, and offended her. 
 She was teased by his declaration of partiality, — 
 offended by the presumption with which he 
 assumed, as a matter of course, that it was to be 
 returned, — frightened, for she felt all was going 
 on wrong, — perplexed, for S^e felt that she ought, 
 and did not know how to set it right. And all 
 her comfort was with Harry, Caroline, and Albert. 
 Their simplicity, good faith, and good sense, 
 formed the element in which she seemed to breathe 
 freely, and which the tormenting ways of Lord 
 George only made her sigh for the more. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LOxNDON : HARRISON AND SON, PRINTERS, ST. MARTIN S LANE. 
 
 1
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 lliillil 
 3 0112 051353818